


The Bittersweet Taste Of Victory

by NerysDax



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:35:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 248,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27302776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NerysDax/pseuds/NerysDax
Summary: Victory always comes at a price. Is the biggest cost the loss of his immortality, the boredom, or the little nail in his coffin he can't seem to apprehend? Volmione.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Comments: 23
Kudos: 50
Collections: Pensieve





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> **disclaimer:** I don't own JKR's Harry Potter Universe nor do I make money from this fanfiction.
> 
>  **A/N** I'm in the process of posting this story from AFForg. I had planned to edit first but am a bit worried that site may go down, so here we go typos, spelling and grammar errors and all.

**Disclaimer** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. I also do not own nor make money of any of the song texts that are posted at the beginning of every chapter of this story. They belong to their rightful owners, who I bow to for their brilliance.

 **Spoiler-warning:** All Harry Potter books, including Deathly Hallows' spoilers, though I tweaked the ending of that one a bit (just a little bit, nothing drastic. snort)

 **Author's note:** Not for those who despise the concept of Hermione & Voldemort shipping. So I've finally brought myself to start altering the first five chapters into the present tense as well, so they will match with the rest of the story.

First chapter is Voldemort's POV.

 **Rating:** M

 **Warnings:** Story will turn darker as it progresses. The chapters I've already written contain: coarse language, sexual situations (with dubious consent), violence (including physical and mental torture), and character deaths.

* * *

**The Bittersweet Taste of Victory**

_You only wanted them to love you_

_You may have been living in a dream_

_And as the demons tower above you_

_You bite your tongue_

_when you really want to scream…_

… _you and me._

George Michael, Star People.

**Chapter one**

Lord Voldemort eyes the man that stands in front of him with much scrutiny. The man's physique is average in all areas concerned. His height, build, and overall posture are not too big and not too small. His features are neither handsome nor ugly. He has mousy brown hair and eyes. Women will never give him a second glance. The clothes he wears are mediocre: a simple brown, inexpensive suit with a white shirt underneath. Nothing about the man makes him noticeable to others and this is exactly where his strength lies, as Lord Voldemort is very well aware off. This man, Liam Sloan, is the best and brightest Unspeakable in the world. His talent to blend in and go unnoticed is beyond amazing, and Sloan has a nag for always getting his mark. It is why Lord Voldemort had him summoned. This man will succeed where others have failed.

'You understand what I want done?'

'Yes, Master.'

'I've heard you never failed an assignment before in you're life, Mister Sloan. It would be prudent not to let your record get tarnished with failure now. I highly recommend you do not let that happen.'

Sloan swallows and is clearly uncomfortable. It pleases him that the man has the good sense to be frightened. Though it no longer gives him the satisfaction it used to do when his victims still tried to fight back. They just don't measure up anymore, none of them. There are no more challenges; no one tries to disobey him, so scaring people is merely a routine job these days.

'Too easy,' he thinks somewhat disappointed.

'I will not fail you, my Lord.'

'Make sure you don't.'

Sloan leaves upon recognising the dismissal as Lord Voldemort turns his attention to the most wanted list on his desk or rather to the name at the top of it. It has been ten years now. Ten years, since she first made the top of the list. Ten years, she has been Undesirable no. 1. The other names on the list have changed during the years, gradually becoming less and less important to him over time. Most of them, he does not know and isn't even aware as to why they are on the list. He does know it is never anything worthy of his attention. However, her name remains at pole position, mocking him. Violently, he squashes the fly that lands on the paper with his fist, pretending in his mind it is Hermione Jean Granger.

Ten years, he has been in power and that last nail on his coffin is nowhere to be found. But Sloan will find her. It will be in his own interest, depending on how much he values his own life. Still, the girl is smart. He hands her that. Despite the overwhelming odds against her, she avoids being captured. And she doesn't just ditch his Death Eaters and Ministerial Employees. No, she has slipped through his own fingers as well on a couple of occasions, which is even more infuriating. A Mudblood who outwits him, she has to be apprehended.

Oh, how he is going to enjoy putting her in her rightful place. He has plans, lots and lots of them. Everything is ready to go, except for that one tiny, little, insignificant detail: namely the blasted girl herself. He looks at the picture of the seventeen old on the most wanted poster. It is a sure testament to her cunning that they have not obtained a more recent photograph.

'Where are you, Granger?' he says to the photograph, but the girl in the picture merely gives him a scornful smile and he crumbles up the poster and tosses it in the bin.

He knows he is obsessing. He knows he should not care so much. In the past, he heard the whispers of his loyal followers. That soon ended after he made an example of the lot of them. No one, not even his most trusted are allowed to question him. He makes absolutely certain they understand that. Still, the girl has posed no threat in all those years, and yet, here he is, dedicating all his time pondering over someone he should not be thinking off. He needs her dealt with. So he can move on. He wants her gone from his mind. She is nobody, unimportant, Harry Potter's friend. That's why he wants her. To show the world he has conquered every little, last shred of connection to the Boy-Who-Finally-Died.

He remembers the events like they happened only yesterday. It had been somewhat of an anticlimax for him. He was standing at the clearing of the Forbidden Forest waiting for Potter to show, but he never came. He had given the boy an hour before he would set out to destroy Hogwarts and everyone in it, and he was certain Potter would play hero and sacrifice himself. He was incredibly surprised when he appeared to be mistaken and Potter did not come forward. He would make certain the boy would see the mingled bodies of his friends and classmates in the Daily Prophet tomorrow. But on route to the castle, he found him. One of Hagrid's Acromantula's was busy cocooning the boy in. He had killed the wretched, overgrown spider, but it was too late. Potter was already dead. He had his Death Eaters kill every single one of those creatures for interfering with his revenge.

It all went fast from thereon. He recalls McGonagall's scream at the sight of Harry's dead body and the Longbottom boy, who had been brave but unsuccessful. Though he still remembers how close the boy came to actually killing Nagini, his last Horcrux. He had shown everyone his wrath and tortured the boy severely for his insolence, after which he could join his parents at St. Mungo's. Neville Longbottom had been the last straw of worthy resistance that day. He knew in advance that was how it would be. It had been a walkover; since no one, except for the Order members, dared to challenge him anymore, and he had taken Hogwarts back within the hour. It was when that foolish Weasley boy had shoved his girlfriend into the fireplace and tossed the last bit of Floo Powder at her. It was not enough for them both and he had seen the silent tears on Granger's face seconds before she vanished.

If only he would have known then how much of a problem she proved to be in apprehending, he would have gone after her straight away, but he had deemed other issues more vital. That was his first mistake. The other one was not questioning Ronald Weasley immediately, because his mind revealed to him how important the Granger girl had been to the Potter boy. She was the brains of the trio. He considered her to be the factor why Potter continually succeeded in thwarting him. Sure, the boy had skills, but he never would have known about the Philosopher Stone without her, or the Basilisk, or everything else for that matter. It was that revelation that bumped her up to the number one spot on the Undesirable's list.

After she turned out to be more than just brains and sent several of his best man to St. Mungo's, after she escaped numerous times, he decided to torture Ron Weasley again. He was glad he had not killed the Blood-Traitor, yet, because he was a valuable source of information. The pathetic boy's mind was an open book to him. His love for Granger made him unable to stop thinking about her and it was so easy to get the goods on her. Love, such a weak and useless emotion, because of love, he obtained every single memory involving Granger from Weasley's mind, before the boy cracked and died on him.

The memories still continue to impress him. There is no sense in denying that. It irks him sincerely that he feels that way about a Mudblood, but she really is some piece of work, rather devious and vengeful if you ask him. He sees what Weasley's eyes missed, but he is not the first to notice this. Lord Voldemort read her Hogwarts' file, and in between the lines, it was obvious Dumbledore had some concerns about her. The old tattering fool had actually used the same phrasing with Granger as he had used in Tom's old record. This keeps on irritating him thoroughly, and he is certain Granger will feel the same way, if she ever finds out.

Dumbledore's concerns, however, started to vanish from her file as the years progressed and Granger appeared to be the light's poster-girl, but from what he had seen in Weasley's mind that dark streak had not vanished completely. She kept it under lock and key, but on occasion, she had fallen slightly and used the Arts. Not much, he recalls her utterly repulsed face at 'Secrets of the Darkest Art', but she is definitely not Miss White. It is what makes her so dangerous. It is exactly why he wants her caught. Who knows what she has been up to in these last years? How much her powers have grown? He remembers his own disappearance from the face of the earth after obtaining the locket and cup, and how he emerged a decade later and became the most feared wizard of all time. And he does not like the striking resemblance here. But she will not have disappeared to emerge herself in the Arts, will she? She is merely hiding, isn't she? If she has…? Argh! He needs to stop doing this. Just stop thinking about her. He scolds at himself. Perhaps some fresh air… Or Borgins and Burkes…

He is still busy finding more information that will help him regain his soul without resorting to having to feel the disgusting emotion of remorse. He travelled the world again, just like he did before as a young man, to obtain the knowledge to regain his immortality. But remorse was the only response he got to his question.

Feel remorse, the thought is ridiculous. It is not an option. He has nothing to be remorseful about. He has reshaped the world in his image. The ends justify the means. He is a leader, a God. Gods don't need to feel remorse for what they do. Others should feel that, he doesn't have too.

So he needed better information, because he has to heal his soul, before he can rip it apart again. It was in China when he heard about this nameless item on a silver necklace that was said to be soul-healing. He went to Tibet in order to see whether the necklace was a reality. Some soppy love story was made up around it, but he found out that the item, an amulet of some kind, was real. He tracked its trail, but the amulet disappeared again and again. And now, Lord Voldemort is back in England. The last owner, he spoke too, said that he sold the necklace to an Englishman, but he had no idea to whom. He killed the idiot for not remembering and arrived home yesterday.

Unfortunately, healing his soul is necessary, since that is the only way for him to create a new Horcrux. In a way, he is as mortal as any other man now, since Nagini will not life forever. Why has he been so stupid to put a fragment in there? Sure, it has come in handy on several occasions. He can possess her, and as such, he has gained an advantage in many situations. But now… He has to find that necklace. Perhaps this time he can track the owner, before it gets lost again. It is almost as if the amulet does not want to get near him, but that thought is insane. He is close. He can feel it. The amulet will be his soon.

Once he has it; he will make a new Horcrux, and after that, he can get personally involved in the search for Granger. She will not elude him once his full attention is on her. He is certain of that. But maybe Sloan will apprehend her, before he has to get involved. Granger, how come her name is always slipping back into his mind?

'Borgins and Burkes. An old Englishman interested in rare items.' He repeats those thoughts like a mantra. The owners of the store have to know the identity of the man. Yes, he will check out the store in Knockturn Alley first. And he rises out of his chair and Apparates to Knockturn Alley.

It is wonderful to see people hurrying away wherever he arrives. Even in a dodgy place like Knockturn Alley people are still scared upon meeting him. He feels the fear in the air and he stands still for a second to inhale it. It is a delicious scent. Hopefully, Burkes will be working in the shop today. It is always delightful to harass his old employer. He never grows tired of repaying the man for the misdeeds he committed toward his mother. Lord Voldemort walks to the door, but freezes when he sees the wanted poster that is plastered on there. He forgot about the Ministerial Degree that forced shopkeepers to hang one on their shop's front-door. So now, he is staring at Hermione Granger again. She is waving at him. Annoying pest of a woman. He enters the rare items shop with a mood that is beginning to deteriorate rapidly.

The store has not changed much over the years, he notices. It is still filled with all kinds of dark objects. Stupid things, like blood-stained cards; rusty spiked instruments; human bones and evil looking masks, but there are also the rare and priceless ones to be found. He notices an old chair that tries to get him to sit down, which undoubtedly will be a mistake to do. There is a glass chess-set that according to the card kills the losing player. He finds that rather amusing and considers buying it. It will be a wonderful manner in which to threaten his followers, if they displease him. Well, maybe later, first, he has to talk with the owner. He hears footsteps coming from the back and is looking forward to the expression on the proprietor's face, when the man will see Lord Voldemort standing at the counter.

Unfortunately, it isn't Burkes. It is some dark haired woman who enters. The reaction is still funny though. He smiles at her, and she goes pale and freezes up. Her eyes dart around like she is searching for an escape route, and her right hand is twitching slightly. It is almost like she is about to draw her wand in defence, but considers it a futile option, which it will be, of course. Too bad, he will not mind the opportunity to hex her. Not that he needs an attack as an excuse to do so, but it is always good to remind people that even when they have everything to defend themselves with, they will still lose out to him. A little humiliation always helps to underline his point of view, make people do his bidding. He might have to explain her position later on, but first, he needs information.

Fortunately, the woman regains her senses and asks him how she can be of assistance. He has an idea or two, but instead, he asks her, if she can supply him with information on a possible, former client. He tells her: 'It has to be an English gentleman; around the age of one-hundred-and-thirty; interested in rare and expensive items. I'm sure someone like that would have bought items here.'

He waits for her reply. He knows immediately she has the answer to his question, but her eyes dart to the ceiling and she pretends to be thinking deeply. Surely, she will not be foolish enough to think she can lie to him. He always gets what he wants.

'Except for Hermione Granger,' a little nagging voice inside his head says.

He shakes the last thought from his mind and starts to appraise the shopgirl. Well, anyone below the age of forty will qualify for the title girl in his eyes and she can't be more than thirty years of age. Her hair is a deep black colour. It is shiny and obviously long, since she has it tied up in a blue hairpin. Her face is nice to look at, but not overly pretty. She is slender and of medium height, which makes her rather small compared to him, but he will never be with a woman that towers over him anyway. Her skin is tanned, so she has taken a holiday abroad. The weather in England had been rather ghastly as he had read in the Prophet. Overall, she is all right and he hasn't been with a woman in quite some time. He looks in her emerald eyes again. It reminds him of Potter. She is considering lying to him. He is certain of that now. He really hopes she will make that mistake. It will be nice to punish her for it. She bites her lip. Really, really nice.

He notices the name tag on her shirt, Aine Alberon. Aine, the queen of the elves. He wonders if she knows what the name means. Probably not, young people these days are so ignorant and she certainly isn't too bright, otherwise she will not be working here at the age of twenty-something. He is beginning to get impatient at her silence and is about to tell her to speak up, when she does. Unfortunately, she has come to the conclusion lying isn't a good idea and she tells him the truth. He sees it in her Potter like eyes.

'I can always punish her for that.'

The thought amuses him. But he does have a name now, and Burkes always keeps a record of wealthy costumers, and he knows for a fact Sir Reginald Murdoch is loaded. So he is waiting to see if she remembers that little detail.

She recalls, eventually, and finally turns her back to him to get the address-book that is stored in the drawer of the desk behind her. It is what he has been waiting for her to do. Before she has a chance to turn around, he moves behind her. His one hand encompasses her hand holding the book, while his other hand is placed gently on her side. He feels her body tense up as he pushes her forward, pressing her body into the desk with his own, and he slowly guides her hand to place the book in front of her on the desk. He lets go of her hand, and gently following the contours of her arm with his long spidery fingers, he goes on to touch her neck. He breathes the words in her ear as he says in a calm, soft, but demanding tone: 'Reginald Murdoch'.

She shivers, but handles the book just the same, and she is turning the pages with a slight tremor in her hands. His right hand firmly holds on to her side as he enjoys her fear of him, of what he can do to her. And he caresses her neckline softly with the other, feeling her heartbeat underneath her skin. It will be so simple to end her life. He will not even need a wand. He is sure of that. She feels so fragile, so vulnerable. It will be so easy. Her breaths are becoming erratic and he wonders how her voice will sound right now. She has to tell him the address and he wants to hear her voice break. He smiles at the thought and moves his hand from her neck to her hair. That pin has to go. He prefers it if hair is worn hanging loosely over a woman's shoulders. It gives a man something soft to touch and if necessary pull at.

'You have beautiful hair,' he says approvingly, while stroking it with his hand and putting it in place at the same time.

He buries his face in her hair for a second, breathing in her lovely cinnamon scent. He moves his right hand underneath her shirt. She gasps at the touch of his fingers on her skin, but she still remains silent. He has been hoping for some begging about now, but apparently, the girl is smarter than he first assumed, and she does not accommodate him. Well, that only means he has to pull her terror up a nudge. He moves her hair to one side, so that her neck becomes completely exposed to him, and he begins to slowly move his hand downward over her body, only barely touching her with the tip of his fingers. He caresses her face, her neck, her breast and finally joins his other hand underneath her shirt.

She is no longer moving the pages of the address-book. Her hands are shaking too much.

'The address, dear.' He breathes the words against her neck, making her shiver again.

'Deans valley eleven,' she replies timidly.

She gasps loudly when he roughly wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her toward him. He is hurting her now, he knows it.

'At,' he asks commandingly.

'Go..odric Hol..low.'

Finally, her voice breaks, and her restraint flies out the door with it. 'Please,' she begs.

At last. His mouth curls up. And he touches her neck with his tongue, tracking her Carotid Artery, like he is a vampire looking to draw blood, ending the search, when he reaches her ear.

'Please, what?' he whispers.

'Please, don't hurt me.'

He holds her trembling body tightly for a few more seconds and kisses her on top of her head.

'Never, ever consider lying to me again, Miss Alberon. I will not be so kind the next time.'

He lets go of her and steps back unaffected. He sees her steady herself on the desk in front of her, and he calmly asks how much Burkes expects to get paid for that enchanted chess-set in the showcase. He buys it for twenty-five percent less, since he knows that is the amount B&B is always overpricing. And he watches her intently as she places the chess-set in a box and wraps it up in brown paper. Her face is slightly tear-stained as she obviously has been crying silently. Their hands touch when she hands him the package, and for a second, they have eye-contact again.

'Any thoughts on how this chess-set kills?' he asks her amusedly.

To his surprise, the answer comes abruptly.

'The King stabs the losing party with his sword.'

He raises his eyebrows at the concept of someone being killed by the miniature figurine, which has a sword of barely an inch long, and she adds: 'The sword is poisonous.'

'How delightful,' he replies with a smirk and he swirls around in order to leave the premises.

At the door, he looks back for a second, frowning. She is still standing at the counter, motionless. He has a strange feeling, like he is missing something. Something he has seen, but not seen at the same time. A memory of some sort. He cannot place it though and he shakes the thought.

'Good day, Miss Alberon.'

'Good day, my Lord.'


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including, but not limited to: Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Don't own anything from 'Star Wars' or 'Labyrinth' or 'George Michael' either. Trust me, I checked my bank account.

 **Spoiler warning:** all HP-books, including Deathly Hallows.

 **Rating:** M

 **A/N:** Hermione's POV.

* * *

**The Bittersweet Taste of Victory**

_I do not count myself among you_

_I may be living in a dream_

_It's just there seem so many of you_

_Can't help but hope_

_There's a difference between…_

… _you and me._

George Michael, Star People

**Chapter two**

I remember it like it was yesterday. Only it has been around ten years now that Voldemort defeated Harry and took over the world. I still see myself standing in the Gryffindor Common Room with Ron Weasley. We are surrounded and there is no escape, since the amount of Floo Powder is not enough for us both. So Ron and I start to argue about who will use it. I want him to be safe and he wants me to go. We decide to stay together and go down fighting, like we know Harry has done. I cry when we kiss, knowing it will be the last time I will ever feel his lips on me again. At least we will die together.

That's when he does it. He pushes me into the fireplace and throws the powder at me. I see Lord Voldemort enter the Gryffindor Common Room when I Floo away. I have not specified a place to go to, since I do not want to be in the hearth to begin with, so the powder makes a choice on its own accord and I land in some old wizard's flat. I give him quite a scare. Apparently, it is not an everyday experience for him to have young witches land in his living room. I will never find out if the Death Eaters hurt him because of me. I Apparate out of there, immediately, knowing the Ministry tracks all Floo Activity, and land myself near the cottage in France, where I have been on vacation before.

After some time of pacing the cottage living room, and being furious with and dead worried for Ron, I think of my parents. Ron knows I send them to Australia and he knows the aliases I provided them with. So my next stop is Broken Hill. I find Monica and Wendell Wilkins very quickly. I stun them and transport them to The United States of America. It takes me a couple of days to magically take care of their newest background, but then I am ready to leave.

Ronald and Ginny Evans are now a very happily married couple in New York City, and they have no recollections of their previous lives in Australia or England for that matter. I hug my sleeping parents for the last time, knowing I'll never see them again, and I transport back to the cottage in France, where I Obliviate my own memory of where I've taken them and which identity I've provided them with. After that I cry for a week for the loss of my parents, Ronald, Harry, Ginny and all the others, who have died or are captured and, no doubt, tortured severely. I return to the UK briefly, having bold ideas on freeing my friends, staging a prison break or anything else that can bring an end to this misery.

But Voldemort makes his next move quickly and he conquers the European mainland in a heartbeat. Freeing my friends seems more and more an impossible feat. But I do not give up. I re-enter the Ministry and steal what I need to free them, but they are on to me, and I have to flee after several Death Eaters and even more so-called Aurors try to apprehend me. I take great satisfaction in the fact that a lot of them need intense medical attention after they had their encounter with me.

Gradually, Voldemort starts filling up the obituary's section in the Daily Prophet, and after Ron's name appears in there, I break down and leave. I travel the world in a daze, constantly hearing reports on Voldemort's conquests. He seems unstoppable, and I have to leave my newfound homes on many occasions due to his expansion-drift. I finally end up in Tibet, after I flee Argentina severely injured due to the Lestranges. I do not know how they have found me, but I am lucky to get out of that situation alive.

Yet again, I am on the move with nothing else than the clothes on my back and my wand in my pocket. I walk for days without food, still bleeding from several wounds I am unable to heal. Due to my weakened state, I cannot Apparate, and I walk for miles and miles without seeing anyone, until I finally pass out. I wake up inside a monastery of Tibetan Wizards. They have found me outside and have saved my life by bringing me indoors and healing me in their own peculiar, but powerful way of magic.

They are called the Knights of Silence for they do not speak often. Talking is considered spilling precious magical energy, as it leads the mind away from the Origin of Magic. It is an all male society, but they took me in, because it is their destiny to save the stray souls that dwell on their path. And I need rescuing from darkness as they so often tell me. I learn later on that they mean the darkness inside of me, not the darkness that is searching the globe in order to capture and kill me.

One of the Knights, a wizard who appears older than Dumbledore, is assigned to teach me their ways. Since they also do not use names, for one contains all and all is one being, I call him Yoda, because he is always telling me about the Force of Magic: let the Force guide you. He does not mind me calling him that. He says as long as you need to use names to identify others, you're allowed to do so.

I spend all my time at the monastery with him. He teaches me to meditate first, to clear my head of thoughts and emotions. At first I think it is some form of Occlumency they practise, and I feel it is a pointless exercise. Nobody is going to use Legilimency against me. They will torture and kill me for fun, not for information. And so I resist the lessons. I yell. I cry. I am angry with the world and everyone in it. I have nightmares every time I go to sleep, and during the day I think of everything I have lost.

But, eventually, I am able to let go. My demons go to sleep and I slowly start to be able to clear my mind and let all my feelings and emotions flow away from it. And I learn that closing one's mind is not the result they strive at. It is the opposite. Clearing the mind and letting go off the thoughts, feelings and emotions in there, means sharing them with the world, which in my case means every wizard monk in the monastery. I am somewhat embarrassed at first when I find out about this, but I am already seeing the benefits of the meditation, so I do not stop, knowing everyone knows everything there is to know about me. Besides, I think they already knew all before they took me in, anyway.

After two years of training Yoda is satisfied enough with my progress to teach me more. He teaches me to concentrate my magic, along with the difference between light and dark magic. It is a very painful process, but he saves me with his love every time I get lost and succumb to the darkness. Duelling is a part of the teachings, and I fight Yoda, though I am never able to actually hit him. He somehow always evades my spells, charms, hexes, jinxes and curses. It infuriates the hell out of me, and eventually, I do it. I am not proud of my behaviour that day, but Yoda calls it an important learning experience, and is happy it happened. It is like he has been expecting me to do it. He probably has.

On that dreadful day I get so lost in the Dark that at some point I cast the Killing Curse at Yoda. It hits him dead on, but he does not drop dead on the floor. An immense bright light flies around him and I hear chanting in the air, like Mother Earth herself is intervening. The chants seem to come from the trees, the plants, the air, earth, wind, water: everything. I notice several other monks standing quietly there. Their palms are raised in the air and a white light is emanating from them. I can feel the chants travel through me and I crash to the ground, shaking like a leaf and feeling terrified from the mere sound of the chants.

At some point, the feeling of dread and terror changes to sorrow and remorse, until, eventually, I feel happy. I feel happy for the first time after seeing Harry's dead body. Then, I cry. And the bright white light surrounds me and helps me up again; hugging me, loving me. Today I've learnt the true nature of love. Dumbledore once called it the most powerful form of magic and now I know that to be true. I now know why that door in the Ministry always remains closed. Love, truly and utterly is the Origin of Magic.

The Knights of Silence are an Order that practises Peace, Love, and Understanding, but they shall not be taken for granted. All of them are more powerful than any wizard that I have ever met before or will ever meet again after I leave here. Their chants stopped my Killing Curse from doing bodily harm to someone, and their love and forgiveness healed me. Although Yoda keeps insisting that I healed myself.

'You chose the light,' he says, 'and because of that we were able to help you heal.'

He will not tell me what would have happened to me had I not felt the sorrow and remorse for what I did, but I have a distinct feeling it would not have been something nice. After my complete fall to the Dark Arts and my resurrection to the Light Force, all the other monks are suddenly paying attention to me. I am hugged many times, and they beam at me whenever I pass. Even the elders are nodding approvingly to me. Yoda laughs, when I sarcastically say that I should have tried to kill him sooner because of this.

After I have overcome the Dark, Yoda starts to teach me to use the magic inside of me. He holds a little speech before we begin.

'Magic flows all around us. This is not about spells, charms, or anything like it. This magic is The Force of Nature and it can guide you on your path. It will help to ground you and keep your balance in times of despair. This is the most powerful way to use magic, and we do not normally teach this to outsiders, but you have proven worthy of this knowledge. I must, however, insist you stay with us, until you can fully understand and control this form of magic. If you leave prematurely, the results can end up being disastrous.'

I tell him I will stay for as long as he deems necessary, and slowly, I start to make steps towards controlling my own magic and the magic around me. At first the experience is similar to when I had to meditate. I am lousy at it. Yoda guides me through it and stands behind me every time I try controlling my magic, his hands on my shoulders and his soothing voice in my ear.

'Close your eyes; let go of all thoughts, feelings and emotions; clear your mind, and open it. Hear the others, feel their emotions, let them enter and feel the magic run through your body. Notice how its power is building up inside of you. Let the Force guide you. Now, open your eyes and release the Force.'

But whenever I release the Force, it means either nothing happens or everybody has to run for cover. One day, when I destroy nearly half the gardens, Yoda tries to cheer me up by telling me how he had once blown up the entire mountain. I am even more concerned about what can happen after that bit of delightful information, and I do not try my best for a long time.

Until one day when I, suddenly, hear someone say that he is in the mood for some pudding. I look around to see who is there, but I see nobody. It will be the first time I hear another without Yoda's assistance. He calls it a major breakthrough and says that I am a quick learner. In fact, he tells me that there has only been one other who has achieved this result faster. After that, I start to try for real again. I am, after all, Hermione Jean Granger, so second best is just not good enough.

Slowly but surely I am becoming somewhat able to control the Force. Only, the results still vary a lot. It is frustrating. Sometimes I am able to control the magic inside of me, enhance the power to a certain amount and then hold that magical power in my hand, not letting it slip through my fingers. Yoda is always jumping up and down excitedly at those moments, and seeing a man his age jump is quite a sight for sore eyes, I can tell you that. But at other occasions, I feel nothing or I cannot stop the build up and it sears out of my hands to impact at anything unlucky enough to be in its path. Worst of all, those very different results can happen just a few minutes apart. It feels like I am not learning a thing, like I am making no progress whatsoever.

It is on one of those disastrous days that I hear _his_ voice. I am standing inside my chamber when I hear it. I will recognise it anywhere: the cold, smooth, and commandeering sound of Lord Voldemort. I have been isolated from the rest of the world for so long that I have almost forgotten what is out there. Somehow, I find myself unable to move. I just stand there, stupidly. And I watch him as he passes my chamber, walking through the corridor accompanied by one of the monks. I stand in plain view and if he turns his head slightly, he will see me, but he moves on without noticing my presence.

I am curious to why Voldemort is walking through the corridors of an Order that values a power he does not understand. So I, sort of, eavesdrop on his conversation with Jareth. I have baptised the wizard with that name, because he is the spitting image of David Bowie in the movie Labyrinth. I quickly clear my mind and try to focus on Jareth. Finding Jareth's magic amongst all the others, I let him enter.

And somehow, even though all my previous attempts that day have been unsuccessful, it works. I locate Jareth, tune in on the conversation, and find out that Voldemort is asking Jareth questions on how to heal the soul of a human being, and the Dark Lord is not happy with the answer he gets. He wants something else. Something he knows the wizard can provide him. His hatred and disgust for the monk in front of him is beginning to build. I can feel that very clearly. The Darkness, he emanates, is tremendously all-consuming and it takes all of my concentration not to get lost in it.

Jareth starts to tell Voldemort a story. I recognise the fairytale. I want to scream at him to stop, to leave, and to do anything but tell Lord Voldemort a tragic love story. I want to warn Jareth that he is going to be killed if he does not quit this kind of behaviour. You just don't go around telling evil menaces children's stories! But Jareth continues his story of an Evil Emperor who kills the parents of the Elf who loves him, and how the Emperor has ripped apart his soul after the act. I cannot believe what I am hearing. I close my eyes in despair and hit my head against the wall, because all I can think is why… why… why…? Why did Jareth not choose to tell Little Red Riding Hood, or Scheherazade's One Thousand and One Nights, or anything else for that matter; anything but this one.

I feel Voldemort's anger and I still hear Jareth continuing. How the Elf feels sorry for the Emperor, because he cannot feel anything, and how she creates an amulet that will heal the very soul. She knows the Emperor adores silver items and is always looking for new silvery trinkets. So she has made the amulet part of a very beautiful silver necklace and gives it to the Emperor on his birthday as a gift. The Emperor is very pleased with the gift, and he wears it twenty-four/seven. Since he does not know his wife is an Elf, he doesn't know the gift is magical and never suspects the necklace is the reason for the changes he feels inside of him.

Slowly, day after day, the amulet does its work and the Emperor begins to heal and to feel. The Elf is very happy with this, because soon she will be together with her love and he will be able to love too. But the Emperor has committed many terrible deeds, and when his soul is healed and he is able to feel love for the first time, he also feels the pain he has caused others. His wife holds him in her arms when he dies, and at the moment, he knows just how much he loves her, and he is happy for the first time in his life.

'Insert scary tune: dun...dun...dun… Goodbye. Farewell. The End; literally.'

That is the sarcastic thought that runs through my mind as I feel and see Voldemort's Magic, the Darkness and the Hatred, fly through the air, engulfing the walls, the building, its inhabitants, the animals outside and myself. I fall to the ground, wanting it to stop, needing it to stop. I am falling again. I can feel it, but I am not in control. He is pushing his Darkness inside of me. It is terrifying. The sheer force of it is enormous and the Power of the Dark Arts is beginning to consume me, when suddenly I hear the chanting again. The bright light fills me up and brings me back. I feel two hands on my shoulders and know without looking at him that it is Yoda. He saves me again.

I witness how the Dark Mist is beginning to vacate the rooms, and how slowly everything around me is turning back to normal. Lord Voldemort doesn't wait for the Light to reach him and he Disapparates from the scene. I feel sick and feeble for a week after that, and Yoda tells me to rest, to take it easy. But in the back of my mind, a little voice starts nagging.

'He is smart and powerful, one of the brightest wizards of this era. He'll find a way to do it, if nobody stops him. If he heals his soul, he can create new Horcruxes. You know that's why he's looking for answers. He wants to be immortal again.'

It is startling, to say the least, that it has been almost ten years already. Ten years since Ron died. I have trouble remembering him, his looks, his voice, his smell, his kiss. It is somehow all blurred around the edges and I am beginning to forget, but I want to remember. I have spent my time in isolation, while others died, but not anymore.

I speak to Yoda about my concerns, but that is only aggravating me more. He is informing me that I still have much to learn about controlling my magic, and that those other things are trivial. I know I have much to learn, but there is an entire world out there. A world I cannot ignore anymore. It is as if my eyes are open again. The Knights here may be happy living outside reality, but I sure am not. If I let Voldemort regain his immortality without doing something, I will betray Ron and Harry and everybody else who died trying to fight him. Yoda sees my thoughts and says that I will betray them, if I go before I am ready.

'That amulet,' I snap at him, 'is that real?'

He stares at me intently, but he nods his head in affirmation.

'So Voldemort can heal his soul with it?'

'Yes, but he has to find it first. You have time, Hermione. You need the time, you are not ready.'

'But when will I be ready? How much more time do I need to spend here? You said yourself it will take many years, if not decades, to master this fully. I have already been here for almost nine years. And I am nowhere nearer to achieving full control. I can't wait another decade or more. He will be long done by that time.'

'Hermione, you've reached results in the last nine years that were only surpassed by one other person before. You have a gift. You're the one. Do not make the same mistake he did by leaving prematurely. You can not go after Lord Voldemort in your current condition. Remember what happened a week ago.'

'If I can't go, then why doesn't the Order do it then? You guys are ready. You're the Knights of Silence. You can stop him! I saw you do it the other day! But you sit here, doing nothing, while he destroys all. And then, you gave him the information he needs on how to achieve his goal!'

'Miss Granger. You know full well that we do not fight. We are pacifists. We donate life. We do not take it. You need to finish your lessons. Do not make this mistake, I beg of you.'

'He who watches and stands by as atrocities occur is equally responsible,' I say quietly.

I am slightly disappointed at his naive worldview. So I do not listen to him. I am too concerned that Voldemort will become immortal again, which means he will hold the world under his control indefinitely. That thought alone is too appalling. I can no longer sit here and pretend it isn't a concern of mine. Sit here in my comfortable room, protected by the Knights, while others suffer and I do nothing. My time in isolation got punctured the moment I heard _his_ voice again. I know I have to make a stand. So I leave, while promising to return to finish my lessons after I've dealt with the issue at hand.

'You will not be coming back, not as you are now.' Yoda says softly. 'You will become him. You will fall and then all hope will have left this world. You will be his for eternity. Please stay and finish your teachings.'

'No, I have to go, I'm sorry.'

And as I leave the monastery, I hear a thought from one of the Knights. 'It's happening all over again. Just like sixty years ago.'

* * *

It is strange being on the outside and holding a wand again at first, but soon it is like I have not been secluded for ten years. I catch up with the events that happened during my time at the monastery quickly, and it is appalling to see how strong Voldemort's hold on the world has become. I have a couple of close calls with the authorities of several countries, ironically some Death Eater on vacation recognises me, pressing his dark mark immediately to call his master, and twice I am almost caught by Voldemort himself, but I manage to get away with only minor injuries on those occasions.

So I start varying my appearance. During my time in Tibet, I have become skilled in human transformations by using the Force of Nature. It is all too easy to change my hair, eyes, nose, bodily physique, and some other features. I once tried becoming male, but that turned out so disastrous, that I have vowed to myself to never try that again. It is when I start looking for a silvery necklace carrying a soul-healing amulet. My search leads me around the globe once more, and eventually, I end up here, in Gobierno, the capital of Kenia.

I am close. I can feel it. It is like the Amulet of Aine is calling out to me. I found out that is its name after I visited Everon. Known to most people as the Amazon Rainforest, the Great Elves Kingdom of Everon holds the largest concentration of elves in the known world. These elves are unlike the House-elves I have grown accustomed to in the human world. Though according to some stories, they were living together in the past, but now they differ more than resemble each other.

The Kingdom of Everon closed its borders to the outside world a long time ago, but on rare occasions, humans may entire. I happened to arrive at a rare occasion and was granted access. The elves of Everon are proud creatures that do not open up easily, but eventually one of them, Maglor Silimaurë, took pity on me and told me the powers of the Amulet of Aine.

I won't go into the details here, but let's just say it is not good news. The part of the Amulet that makes the person feel can be separated from the part that heals the soul. Lord Voldemort can use the Amulet without having to deal with the icky getting in touch with your feelings stuff. There is no doubt in my mind that is the way he is going to use it. I have to prevent him from getting his hands on that necklace.

So here I am, in Kenia, racing Lord Voldemort to the address the Amulet of Aine is last seen. Fortunately, he is unaware of the competition and takes his time. I have heard rumours that he is still camped out in Russia, so I know that I will get there first. I feel elated, excited. I feel the call of Aine's Amulet and I am certain it will be mine when I knock on the door of the flat. Muraty, the alleged new owner of the necklace, opens. Muraty is a kind man who is sorry he cannot comply to my request for the necklace, since he sold the Amulet only one hour ago and the buyer left for home immediately. I have never before been this close and still that far from obtaining the Amulet.

The new owner is a rich, old Englishman who goes by the name of Sir Reginald Murdoch. I have heard stories about the pureblood aristocrat and if they are correct, he will never hand over the necklace to me. It is a disaster. Not only does this mean I have to go back home, back to England, back to the country Lord Voldemort has the biggest hold on, but I also have to find a way to Sir Murdoch. Considering I am on the top of the most wanted list, getting to him will prove to be a problem; whereas Voldemort only has to overpower Murdoch to get the necklace. Hell, all he has to do is send the man a bloody owl.

Knowing that Voldemort will obtain all of this information in due time after I leave; I feel I have no choice and I partly Obliviate Muraty. I cannot remove all his memories, because that will arise suspicion. Rather, I remove my own visit, along with Murdoch's name and appearance, so he cannot be identified easily. That will still give Voldemort proof that someone else now has the Amulet in their possession, as well as leave him blissfully unaware of the fact that he is not the only one interested in it. I hope I have done a good of enough job of covering my tracks when I leave. Then, I go back home, back into the snake's pit.

I change my appearance again and Apparate to Knockturn Alley. I have done extensive research on Sir Murdoch since my arrival in England, and it turns out he is quite a collector of precious and rare items. He is also a regular costumer at Borgins and Burkes, and lucky for me, Burkes is looking for a new salesperson after his partner Borgins died several months ago. Burkes is not a pleasant man. The store is not well known. Nobody has wanted the job, so it is mine the minute I place one foot through the door. My name helps a lot too. Burkes is eyeing me with dilated pupils. I call myself Aine Alberon. Alberon is a well known pureblood name with links to the Kingdom of the Elves, and Burkes is practically drooling over the prospect that I may be a distant relative to them.

I have taken this identity for a specific reason. I am going to need to get the Amulet from Murdoch, and he is never going to give it to Mudblood Hermione Granger, but to a representative of the makers … that may be a different story entirely. Aine, Queen of the Elves. The Amulet of Aine. The last name Alberon. He can't pull up his spoilt nose on that. Let's see how Sir Reginald Murdoch holds up when I tell him we, The Elves, want our rightful property back.

After three days of working at the shop, I finally meet the man. He is even more arrogant than Lucius Malfoy, and that is saying something. Burkes is also in that day, and I have never seen anyone suck up to someone like that. Sir Reginald this, Sir Reginald that, Sir Reginald blah… blah… blah… I am dusting the shelves and do not engage myself in the conversation, because I see the moment of curiosity upon the man's face when he notices me. It is probably due to surprise that Burke has found an employee, and I think it is best to remain a bit of a mystery. Secrets always attract others, and it will give me the advantage if Murdoch comes to me. After all, I'm the proud pureblood Aine Alberon. People come to me, not vice versa.

Murdoch is said to be a primo snob and those reports are not false. He is utterly unpleasant and eyes me with great distaste, until he reads my name on the tag I am wearing on my shirt. I see the shock in his face at reading a name that is practically royal in another world, and has longer bloodlines than his own. The way he treats me changes immediately. It is as I have expected. When he leaves the shop, I know the foundation for a relationship has been laid. Now I have to wheel him in: hook, line and sinker.

Sir Reginald comes back to the shop on a daily basis after that. Apparently, he has an unwed cousin my age, and well, you can fill in the blanks. The shop's bell rings and I see the blunt features of Yaxley enter Borgins and Burkes, accompanied with a mousy-haired man. Yaxley immediately strides over to the counter, but the smaller man stays behind and looks much more interested in the items on the shelves. I ask the Death Eater how I can be of assistance, and he rudely dumps a document on the counter without saying anything. I raise my eyebrows at his impolite behaviour, but I pick it up and start reading. I am shocked to read it, not just because it is a record of Hermione Granger, but mostly because it is so bloody accurate. Someone has been able to track my movements. This is not good. I put down the document and look questionably at Yaxley.

'Have you seen this woman in Brazil?' he asks rudely.

Slightly relieved that my cover has not been broken, I deny ever meeting Hermione Granger, which technically is correct, unless you count looking in the mirror as meeting someone. He grabs the paper off the counter and plans to leave, when the man in the brown suit starts talking.

'You're very much tanned for an elf.' He says, eyeing me intently.

'I'm only distantly related.' I explain. 'You'd have to go back centuries to track some of the Elf's blood in my veins. The Alberon name has been a wizard's lineage for ages, as your records should show. So do not mistake me for an elf. I am a pureblood witch,' I say, making sure to match the words with the required arrogant tone.

I see the doubt in his eyes, but Yaxley begins to tug on his arm, and pulls him to a corner to talk quietly. It will be the first time, since I left the monastery that I try using my powers again, but I need to know what they are saying. I have the distinct feeling that man is dangerous. And I don't have to try hard, because they are close by and the only ones present in the vicinity. I realise fast that the plain man wants to bring me in for questioning, but Yaxley gets extremely nervous from this idea.

'Did you see her eyes, Sloan? They are elf-like. The Dark Lord will not be pleased if we arrest her and bring on the wrath of Everon. You know the kind of power the elves possess, and they always protect their own bloodlines, even if they flow in a human being.'

'The Dark lord ordered me to find Hermione Granger, and you will not stop me from doing my job, Yaxley. This woman comes from Brazil. My spies tell me Miss Granger has been to Brazil. I need to question her.'

'You most certainly will not. Not on my watch, Sloan, and I outrank you. So I suggest you get permission from the Dark Lord himself to arrest an Alberon, because I do not want to be on the receiving end of his Cruciatus Curse, thank you very much. Now, we are leaving.'

And on that note, Yaxley storms out of the shop. The other one stares at me for a moment, before bowing his head to me slightly and saying goodbye. I know from the look in that man's eyes that I will have to leave the country soon, if I don't want to be caught. It will be time to take Sir Reginald Murdoch up on his offer and not only visit his mansion, but ask for the Amulet as well. I have no more time to waste. I will do it tonight.

I am almost finished with the administration in the backroom, when I hear the doorbell again. I quickly finish my work, and make my way to the store to help the customer. Burkes doesn't want them unsupervised. He is afraid of thieves. I think someone will have to be nuts to try and steal something here considering the dangers involved. Even Lucius Malfoy told his son not to touch anything in this store, as Harry once informed me.

I push the curtain of beads aside and casually step back into the front room, when I freeze up. It's _Him_. I've waited too long. Lord Voldemort has found me.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The same goes for everything else you recognise: I don't own it (including Alanis Morrisette's beautiful song text). Alas, now I am depressed about all that I do not own. Cries out loud.

 **Spoiler warning:** all HP-books, including Deathly Hallows.

 **A/N:** Voldemort's POV.

* * *

**The Bittersweet Taste of Victory**

_And all I really want is some patience_

_A way to calm the angry voice_

_And all I really want is deliverance_

_What I wouldn't give to find a soulmate_

_Someone else to catch this drift_

_And what I wouldn't give to meet a kindred_

_And all I need now is intellectual intercourse_

_A soul to dig the hole must deeper_

_And I have no concept of time other than it is flying_

_If only I could kill the killer_

Alanis Morrisette, All I really want.

**Chapter three**

After leaving the shop, he takes a left turn and makes his way up the street into Diagon Alley. Lord Voldemort is in a good mood and he is certain it will only become better and better. Today is a going to be the day that he will take the first step back to immortality. Oh, such joy. Perhaps he shall consider making this day, April 21st, an obligated holiday: Dark Lord Day. Hmmm… It has a nice ring to it.

Well, let's face it. He has gotten what he is looking for, the name of the soon-to-be-ex-owner of the amulet. The person in question isn't going to challenge him, so he will have the amulet tonight. He has Sloan who is searching for Granger. And he has felt the pleasure of terrifying that delightful woman at the shop … delightful? Why is he calling a measly shopgirl delightful? Really, he must be getting soft.

But the girl had pleased him. It is why he had not cursed her. She had fought with her deviance by not succumbing to him straight away, which is something he prefers. And, of course, in the end she had lost, as he knew she would. But it had been entertaining to make her break, to get her to beg. All the other women he meets these days do immediately what he wants out of fear or foolish reverie. Or worse, they break down crying onto the floor, which he cannot stand. He hates crying. He despises the whining sound it makes. Whenever someone cries in his presence, they will die eventually. He will kill them for torturing his eardrums with that blasted sound. But first they will pay for it, dearly.

He isn't sure what he loathes more, criers or lovers, but both are despicable emotions. He remembers the Aine Girl had cried too, but silently. All he had to endure from it were the tears on her face. It made her beautifully his. Those tears had been a true testament of his victory over the girl. Quiet tears, yes, those he can stand.

No, it has not been a mistake to let the girl live. He may have some future use for her. After all, she had shown him respect. It was woven in the way she addressed him, and he could read it in her attitude and responses. She had been unlike the others. It was such a refreshing change. He definitely has to see her again. Aine Alberon, an elf-name, an unusual name for an unusual girl.

But now is not the time to dwell on women. It is time to send an owl to that wretched man. Sir Reginald Murdoch, he remembers him well. The man fits every bad stereotype of aristocrats, but most of all, he is dumb and greedy. He will not like to give up the Amulet. Too bad for him. Lord Voldemort always gets what he wants.

He arrives at Eeylops Owl Emporium. However, before he can tell the clerk he needs to borrow an owl, the man breaks down in front of him. He stares in disgust at the crawling and pleading figure on the floor before him. This is really utterly annoying. All he needs is a bloody owl, not a freak show.

'Please, don't kill me, don't hurt me. Please, I have a wife and four children.'

Oh, great, the thing before him had multiplied. He should save the wizard gene pool from such despicable creatures and kill them all.

'Please, I'll give you anything. I'll do whatever you say. Please, please,' the clerk says snivelling.

The man is definitely spoiling his perfectly fine day. 'Crucio,' he says lazy, not putting much of an effort in the curse, though the effect is still tremendous.

The clerk screams his lungs out; he wriggles and twists over the floor, while Voldemort already has lowered his wand. 'You're quite the theatrical one, aren't you?' he says coldly.

The man still screams, and … starts to cry. That does it.

'Avada Kedavra.'

Finally, some peace and quietness; Voldemort breathes in deeply, savouring the moment of silence, before he walks towards the cages and decides the grey owl on the left will be fine for this little errand. He picks up the cage containing the owl and places it on the counter. He grabs a quill and some parchment from the stack to his left and writes a simple and short note.

_Sir Reginald,_

_A couple of weeks ago you bought an amulet on a silver necklace in Kenia. I want it. I'll be arriving tonight at eight o'clock. Make sure it's ready. I will not be pleased otherwise._

_Lord Voldemort._

That should do it. Reggie is easily scared. This will have him hiding under the covers for sure. Tonight, he will own the amulet, and then … he can look for ways to retract the power to heal the soul from it and avoid the messy business of remorse. He leaves the owl shop, turning the sign on the door. It now says: 'closed for business'. Killing the clerk has lifted his spirits. He is reconsidering Dark Lord Day again.

His mood back up, he decides to wander around Diagon Alley, to check out the stores. He'll go to the bookstore first. Yes, perhaps there is something new and exciting to read, or something old and obscure. It has been a while since he has last seen the inside of Flourish and Blotts, but the shop is still one of his favourites, even after seeing so many bookstores in other countries, from extremely small and claustrophobic to insanely humungous. He remembers the first time he set foot inside the store. He wanted to buy every book on the shelves, but could not afford them. Things are slightly different these days. A broad smile makes its way to his face.

He nods politely to a startled man that exits Madam Malkin's and is about to open the door of Flourish and Blotts, when he thinks he sees Liam Sloan in the distance. He frowns and quickly makes his way back to the corner and glares into Knockturn Alley, but there is no brown suit to be seen anywhere. He probably is mistaken. Sloan has such a common appearance. Surely the man will not be so foolish to lurk around after he gave him a task to perform. Lord Voldemort expects nothing less than the utmost dedication from wizards he sends on missions.

But he knows Sloan is like a terrier; when on assignment, he will sink his teeth into it, until he has found his mark. It is foolish of him to think he has seen Sloan. He knows the man's greatest asset is his rather plain appearance, his likeness to others. The Dark Lord shakes his head and returns back to his shopping spree.

Two hours later, and a large number of items richer, he is sitting in a small café, drinking coffee and eating a piece of apple-pie. It is nearly four o'clock. Voldemort stares down the window into the alley. He doesn't know why, but he starts to hear a nagging voice. It is taunting him.

'You are missing something. Na…na…na…'

He has heard it earlier today. His fingers are tapping the table as he is contemplating on what it can be.

'Does his lordship want a refill?'

'Leave,' he commands irritated, and he makes an abrupt, dismissive wave with his right hand.

The trembling man holding the coffee container stumbles away quickly, glad he isn't cursed for asking the question. Voldemort furrows his eyebrows. The man has interrupted his thought process. He is certain he is on to something, something important. He makes a fist with his hand and rams the table out of sheer frustration. It is at the tip of his tongue. He is so close, but it is just out of reach. He glares out the window.

Borgins and Burkes! That's when he first had that feeling, but he dismissed it then. Thought it was nothing. But if it is nothing, then … why does it keep coming back to bother him? Borgins and Burkes? Hmm… He had been saying goodbye to the shopgirl, when he had seen something familiar, but what was it? He is certain he has never met the damn Alberon girl before. Maybe it was an item on the shelves? He sighs. He has to go back. Maybe that will jog his memory. He is busy assembling his things when he sees Liam Sloan walking down the alley.

His temper flies through the roof upon seeing the slacking Unspeakable. Perhaps he has seen him earlier on in the day. He will show him, neglecting his duties like that. Furiously, he leaves his belongings behind and steps outside.

'Sloan,' he says shortly, his knuckles white from clutching on to his wand.

The man looks back at him without a shred of fear and nods courteously. It surprises him for a moment, and it stops him from hexing Sloan on the spot.

'Master, I believe I may have found a lead on Granger's whereabouts. I am on my way to make an arrest.'

Voldemort looks around. Indeed, Sloan is not alone. He is accompanied by six men. Six, so this has to be an Unspeakable Arrest Squad. Perhaps Sloan hasn't been sluggish in doing his duty. He calms down a bit and pockets his wand.

'Who are you going to arrest?'

The answer makes him furious. 'Follow me,' he demands, and he Disapparates on the spot.

A loud crack and he Apparates straight into Borgins and Burkes, disregarding all the niceties concerning Apparation. His eyes fly across the shop, but she isn't there. He paces towards the storage room, pushes the curtain aside and raises his wand at…

…an empty room. She has left. He blasts the furniture to pieces to relieve his temper, but that doesn't do the trick. He is still feeling utterly ferocious. The Alberon Girl has fooled him. Seven more cracks follow his, and he turns, grabs the curtain and rips it from the doorframe. It falls apart and the beads clatter all around him.

'What do you know about this woman?' he spats at Sloan.

Sloan's eyes dart around the shop nervously. 'She isn't here?' he asks clearly uncomfortably.

'Obviously not, you fool; now answer my question.'

Sloan is becoming incredibly uneasy. He has been here before. If it hadn't been for Yaxley, the girl would have been taken into custody. And now, he has to explain to a very angry Lord Voldemort what he is considering the girl's identity to be. Sloan takes a deep breath and starts talking.

'I have a reliable spy in Brazil who claims the Alberons do not have a twenty-eight year old daughter named Aine. So I know her identity is a fake. There has also been a slight increase in Granger sightings in Brazil some ten months ago.'

Voldemort sighs. 'You mean those idiots who have no life and waste our time by calling wolf, or in our case Granger? I can't believe you take those reports serious Sloan, I think...'

But Sloan recklessly interrupts him. 'I always check the data on sightings for 'missing people' around the globe. It's how I succeed where others fail. You see, one thing I've learnt from studying the amount of sightings is that the weirdo-factor remains a constant with only minor deviations. If at any given time the constant changes, and the total amount of sightings suddenly increases, then the wanted individual is there. It's how I am able to track the general movements of every criminal on this planet.'

He pulls out a report from his pocket and hands it to Voldemort.

'This is where I believe Miss Granger has been for the last year. I can't find her whereabouts prior to that. It's like she vanished off the face of the earth for a while. However, starting ten months ago I have seen changes all around the globe in the weirdo-constant, so I'm certain this is where she has been.'

While Voldemort is reading the names of the countries and places Hermione has been, Sloan continues his thoughts on Aine Alberon. 'I've been interested in Miss Aine Alberon, because the Brazilian sightings concerning Miss Granger were located near the entrance of Everon. And Aine Alberon is a name highly linked with the Elves' Kingdom. Before I knew she did not exist, I thought she could provide us with information with regards to the why and what of Miss Granger's stay in Everon. But now I believe Aine Alberon is in fact…'

'Hermione Granger,' Voldemort finishes the sentence in anger. His teeth are gritted firmly upon one another. 'How did she know?' he thinks furiously.

He recognises the names of the places Hermione has been to. He also notes when she has been there. It is quite similar to his travels. How has she found out about the Amulet? He looks to the last location on the list. It is the capital of Kenia. She beat him there. She has visited Muraty two weeks ago. He, suddenly, hears Sloan speak up again.

'What I don't understand is why a smart woman like Miss Granger would have chosen such an obvious high profile name without the proper paperwork. She must have realised in advance that it would draw attention to her. I mean, if she had taken any other name, I would not have located her so soon. Actually, it's the reason why I wasn't certain it was her to begin with. I assumed that Miss Aine was some kind of half-blood gold-digger, looking to score a wealthy, pureblood husband by fooling him into thinking that she carried a respectable wizard's name.'

'She was in some way,' Voldemort says quietly. The temperature of his voice drops below freezing point, when he realises the clever scheme Hermione has set up to get her hands on the Amulet. 'She is after Sir Reginald Murdoch, or rather, after something he owns. And she needs an elf name to get it from him.'

Sloan looks at him with bemusement in his eyes. He obviously has no idea what Voldemort is talking about. He is about to ask when Lord Voldemort says abruptly: 'So that's where she is right now … Sloan, I want you to secure the borders. Stop all International Apparition Activity until further notice. Do not fail me. If Miss Granger finds a way to leave this country, I will hold you responsible. Do you understand?'

Sloan nods and Disapparates.

'You six, follow me to the Murdoch Mansion. Miss Granger will be there. I want the house surrounded and warded. I will be the one to enter. The rest of you will remain outdoors, preventing her from escaping. Remember, I need her alive. Kill her and I will do to you what I plan to do to her. So I suggest you do not fail me. The Mansion's address is Deans Valley eleven at Godric's Hollow. Go now.'

And on that note, he spins on the spot, and with a loud crack, Lord Voldemort Disapparates. The Unspeakables follow quickly, not wanting to call upon the wrath of an already angry Dark Lord.

Voldemort arrives just outside the gardens of the Murdoch Mansion, right behind the fence. The Mansion is a heavily fortified place you cannot directly Apparate into, but the wards are easily broken by Lord Voldemort. All it takes is a simple flick of his wand. He orders the Unspeakables to take their positions, and they start surrounding and warding the place. It's when the Dark Lord quickly sets out a warded perimeter of his own. His analytic mind is dwelling on Granger's very clever plan, while he marches towards the Mansion.

'She must be planning to threaten Reginald with the wrath of the elves if he doesn't cough up the Amulet,' he thinks.

And he realises that will undoubtedly work. The Elves' wrath is so devastating that it is likely Murdoch will prefer facing his. He starts to move faster. That Amulet better still be there, or he will take a page out of the elves' book with Murdoch.

Aine, she has taken the name of the Amulet as her first name. Granger sure has guts. He cannot believe he has not made that connection when he saw her nametag in the store. He has been so willing to cast aside Jareth's insipid story that he had forgotten all about the name of the Amulet.

Suddenly, it comes back to him. The missing thing, his little nagging voice has been bothering him with. It was her silent tears: Aine's silent crying. They were the spitting image of Granger's tears in the fireplace the day when Weasley pushed her in. He clenches his fists and his wand leaves a significant imprint on his palm. He recognised her and somehow failed to make the connection. It makes him sick to his stomach. Merlin, she must have had a ball after he left. The Great Lord Voldemort holds Miss Undesirable no. 1 in his arms and then lets her escape. The thought of Hermione Granger laughing her socks off at his expense is infuriating him.

He storms up the flight of steps towards the front door of Murdoch's Mansion, raising his wand to blast the door out of his way, but it opens on its own. A small, delicate hand is visibly holding on to the rim of the front door, when the crack widens and he stares straight into a pair of shocked emerald green eyes. A vile smile flies across his face.

'No,' she says scared, defeat in her eyes, holding up her wandless hands in surrender.

'Yessss,' he hisses, satisfied.

His Sectumsempra Curse hits her in the chest and she is thrown backwards into the hall of the Mansion. Her blood sprays all over the place. And he calmly steps through the door, taking his time, while watching her try to get back on her feet and failing. She is applying pressure with her arms on her chest to lessen the bleeding when she starts coughing. Blood spits from her mouth, and all the while, she is mumbling something he cannot make out. A door to his left opens and in its doorway stands Sir Reginald Murdoch. Murdoch's eyes look fearful and his face is pale.

'She… she made me.'

'I'll deal with you later. Go back to your room,' Lord Voldemort snaps at the pureblood aristocrat.

Reginald quickly returns to his living room, his anxious eyes darting over to the bleeding woman for a second. Voldemort snorts at his retreating back and when the door closes behind Murdoch, he returns his attention to the now bloodstained hall with great satisfaction, and decides a little more pain will be appropriate. He raises his wand back at her lying figure and sees the fear creep up in her eyes.

'No, please, I…'

'I did not give you permission to speak to me, Mudblood. _Silencio_.'

He sees her try to roll away from the spell's path, but the jet of light hits her, causing more blood to spray around. Panicking, she tries desperately to crawl away from him on her belly. Voldemort advances slowly towards her, laughing out loud at her despair, and he starts taunting her.

'What's the matter, Granger? Lost your wand? Having problems casting nonverbal spells? Come on woman, at least try to put up a fight. Potter and Weasley would be so disappointed. You know, I crushed that boyfriend of yours like a bug, Granger. Ronald Weasley was crying for his mommy when I tortured him. And he screamed out your name. He prayed you would save him, but you never came. You left him to die. So I killed him, Hermione Granger, as you knew I would. It's what I do with vermin. I eradicate them.

And you … you've been an annoying piece of weed that I've been waiting to pull from the ground for years. And now I can, Granger. Your time is up. I'm going to destroy you. You will pay for your insolent defiance of me, you and your entire disgusting bloodline. You will tell me where to find your filthy muggle parents, and then I will show you the true meaning of defeat,' he spits the words at her with all the force he can muster.

He decides he has enough of her pathetic crawling attempts to get away from him. He waves his wand around and she flips over onto her back. He wants to see her eyes when he casts the curse. He wants to feel her pain, her terror, her submission. She is going to pay for all the times she has evaded him, and he will cherish every bleeding second of his revenge.

He towers above her and points his wand towards her. He notices with pleasure that her clothes are drenched in that despicable blood of hers, and he looks smilingly into those two terrified emerald eyes as her head shakes 'no' in terror upon seeing his movement. He kneels down beside her, presses his wand into her stomach and wraps the necklace holding the Amulet of Aine around his free hand. A harsh pull and for a moment he watches the Amulet in his hand with a wild happiness, before pocketing it. He, then, places his hand on her forehead. Her body is trembling violently and she is shaking her head, removing his hand from it. He glares at her in anger and hisses: 'Hold still or…'

And he roughly pushes his hand into her chest wound and moves it around in there. He notices with intense pleasure that the pain brings those beautiful silent tears back to her eyes. This is indeed a good day. He has finally conquered the last shred of connection to The-Boy-Who-Lived. And now, he is going to have some fun.

Voldemort removes his hand from her chest, grabs her forehead again with his hand, and pushes her head hard into the ground, before he says in a cold, soft, satisfied tone: 'Feel free to scream in your mind, dear. This is going to hurt.'

His high pitched laugh stretches throughout the hall as he casts the curse upon her.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. I don't own nor make money out of the song text in this chapter either.

 **Spoiler warning:** all HP-books, including Deathly Hallows.

 **Rating:** M

 **A/N:** Hermione's POV.

* * *

**The Bittersweet Taste of Victory**

_I don't wanna talk_

_About things we've gone through_

_Though it's hurting me_

_Now it's history_

_I played all my cards_

_And that's what you've done too_

_Nothing more to say_

_No more Ace to play_

_The winner takes it all_

_The loser standing small_

_Beside the victory_

_That's her destiny._

Abba, The winner takes it all.

**Chapter four**

I'm in my own, private, personal little hell, and it's more horrific than I've ever imagined it would be. I hear the words Lord Voldemort speaks with so much venom that I can hardly believe it. I've never thought I've aggravated him this much.

' _I did not give you permission to speak to me, Mudblood. Silencio.'_

I close my eyes at the flash, knowing this will only be the beginning.

' _What's the matter, Granger? Lost your wand? Having problems casting nonverbal spells? Come on woman, at least try to put up a fight. Potter and Weasley would be so disappointed. You know, I crushed that boyfriend of yours like a bug, Granger. Ronald Weasley was crying for his mommy when I tortured him. And he screamed out your name. He prayed you would save him, but you never came. You left him to die. So I killed him, Hermione Granger, as you knew I would. It's what I do with vermin. I eradicate them.'_

I feel a tear fall from my eye. Ron, I suddenly miss him so much, but Voldemort continues his furious speech and all I can do is listen. Listen to the vile words, he wants me to hear.

_'And you… you've been an annoying piece of weed I've been waiting to pull from the ground for years. And now I can, Granger. Your time is up. I'm going to destroy you. You will pay for your insolent defiance of me, you and your entire disgusting bloodline. You will tell me where to find your filthy muggle parents, and then I will show you the true meaning of defeat.'_

I can tell he spits the words out with all the force he can muster. I have never before realised he is that obsessed with me. I have never considered my roll to be important, not after we lost the war, anyway. So I've always assumed, he is searching for me, because of my friendship with Harry Potter, but there is too much emotion in his voice for this to be merely about Harry.

' _Hold still or…'_

I hear the threat and I hope beyond hope that everything is going to be alright, that nothing bad is going to happen. But I hear his cold and soft voice say in a very satisfied tone: _'Feel free to scream in your mind, dear. This is going to hurt.'_

I stand frozen, my back against the door of the living room and I know he has done something dreadful to Sir Reginald Murdoch as I hear Voldemort's high pitched laugh come from the hall behind me.

It is as I said, I'm in my own personal hell, and I'll never be able to leave again, knowing I condemned another to be tortured in my place. I watch the object in my left hand, telling myself I had to do this. That I had no choice; that I had to prevent Lord Voldemort from obtaining the real Amulet of Aine. No matter what or how.

If only I would have gone to Sir Murdoch sooner; if only I had not wanted the situation to be perfect, completely planned out, then maybe I would have been out of this country already and Sir Murdoch in relative peace.

I've always scolded Harry for being too impulsive, for not thinking before he acted. I even accused him once of having a hero complex, but now I think I should have been more like Harry. I should have shown a bit more action, and a lot less debating and weighing all the possible options and outcomes with myself. I guess my tendency to over think matters, and my need to see all the variables in play, has been the cause of the hell I am in right now.

It's not that Sir Murdoch is a nice and kind man. He is a cruel, nasty, arrogant bigot, who was about to turn me over to the Dark Lord. I remember standing in his living room and arguing with him about the necklace. Murdoch is reluctant to give it to me, because of Lord Voldemort's message. He does not want to get Crucio-ed for handing it over to me. I threaten him with the wrath of the elves, but he is not impressed. He says I can wait and have this discussion with the Dark Lord. He says that he isn't going to be in the middle of some turf war between the Elves and the Dark Lord. So I tell him the truth. I tell him the Amulet will make Voldemort immortal, and he still wants to wait. He simply does not care about others. He says he is going to die soon anyway and he does not care what the Dark Lord does in his spare time.

So I use the Imperius Curse and he hands me the necklace, but when I want to leave the mansion, I feel the wards shift, and as I look out the window I see him. Lord Voldemort is already here. His early arrival can only mean one thing, my cover has been blown. So he must have found out that I am Hermione Granger, and that I am after the Amulet of Aine as well.

I pull a vial of Polyjuice Potion out of my beaded bag, yank out one of my Aine hairs and one from Sir Murdoch, and then … I do the unthinkable. I make the switch. He becomes Aine Alberon, a.k.a. Hermione Granger, and I become Sir Reginald Murdoch. I keep him under the Imperius Curse for as long as I can, but I lose control after I hear Voldemort cast the Sectumsempra Curse at him. The pain shakes Sir Reginald out from underneath my grasp, and I quickly open the living room door to check on the situation.

Voldemort tells me to 'go to my room' like you order a petulant child, and upon leaving the hall, my eyes glance over the bleeding man on the floor. He seems to be in a horrible condition. And I'm wondering whether my choice will be the death of him, because at his age, having to deal with assaults like that on your physical condition can't be easy. I close the door behind me, praying I am not going to be found out, and I hear Sir Murdoch trying to warn Voldemort, trying to tell him who he really is, but Voldemort does not let him finish his sentence and the Dark Lord's next action saves my skin. He uses the Silencing Charm on Murdoch.

So I wait and listen. Listen to Voldemort rant about my gross inabilities and what he will do to me, to Sir Murdoch. Until I hear the two sentences that will keep me awake for nights to come.

' _Feel free to scream_ _in your mind, dear. This is going to hurt.'_

I don't know what he has done at that moment. I have no idea which spell has been cast, and I hope I never have to find out for myself. Apparently, it isn't a curse you should use on a hundred-and-thirty year old man, because Voldemort's laughter ceases abruptly. I hear him swear and cast a spell to disengage the wards.

After which, he calls out to the Unspeakable Team outside to accompany him to St. Mungo's straight away. He totally forgets about The Sir Reginald Murdoch in the living room. I guess Murdoch isn't as important to the Dark Lord as he thought. When I am sure they are gone, I leave in a hurry. Never looking back and hoping to never, ever having to see that wretched place again in my life. I know, however, that I will have ample time of peace. The Polyjuice Potion only works for an hour, and thirty-five minutes have passed by already.

So when I get outside, the first thing I do is try to Apparate to Brazil. I know if I can get this Amulet back into the custody of the elves, Voldemort will never get his hands on it, because they will keep it safe, protected, and hidden. But I am shocked when I realise I cannot Apparate. I don't understand why. I try, and I try, and eventually, I try a shorter distance, just out of curiosity. Unfortunately that works, so I know it isn't my own skills that are failing. Someone or something is preventing long range Apparition.

I've heard rumours of its development when I was in Africa, but I thought it to be a fable, like some of the other, overly fantastic, stories I have been hearing about Voldemort. I mean, really, if it is all true, he has to be a God or so. It's one of those Peter and the Wolf stories. After hearing people claim Voldemort is able to do stuff he really can not, then eventually, when someone tells you something amazing that is true, you don't believe that either. And now, I'm in deep shit, because of that. I can't get out of this country. And I won't be able to avoid detection forever. And I need to hide this blasted Amulet in a way that will never ever occur to Lord Voldemort. I am so screwed.

I set up my tent in the Forest of Dean. I've camped out here before with my parents and at one time with Harry and Ron, when the three of us were fugitives and there was still hope of victory for our side. That hope has been long gone now. All I can hope to achieve is to prevent the man from living forever. If he dies, then, eventually, this reign of terror will end. Without him, the Empire he has built will collapse. The people fear him. The fear for his lackeys isn't nearly as profound. Resistance will rise as it has done in the past, and history has shown that things will always change again. Like the Roman Empire, eventually, every empire falls: good or bad. Hopefully, Voldemort's Empire won't last as long as the Roman's did though.

The next morning, I walk to a nearby town to get something to eat. I have changed my appearance again, because, naturally, my green eyes and dark hair is now a known factor to every Auror in the country. I walk through the muggle shops. There used to be a lot more of them, but with all the muggle killings and tortures there are less and less of them around. I briefly wonder about my parents. Voldemort's words make me think of them again. Will they still be alive? Or has some bigot of a wizard or witch done something to them? I don't even know who they are and where I've hidden them, which was a good and safe choice, considering. But it hasn't been easy. I miss them and I remember.

I remember how my father used to read stories to me, so I could fall asleep. Even, after I was perfectly capable of reading them for myself. I remember my mother and me playing board games. I remember their dental practice and how I used to marvel at all the little, tiny instruments they used to help people with. I remember my mother singing and rocking me to sleep when I was frightened. I remember how they took the news when McGonagall came by and told them I was a witch. They were so relaxed and great about it. They have always supported me. They were worried about me, being friends with this famous boy wizard and being Muggle-born, I know that for sure. And I know their worry increased severely after Dumbledore came by our house to set up wards to protect my parents after _his_ resurrection.

I miss talking to them. I miss talking with Harry and Ron. I miss Ginny, Neville, Fred and George, Luna, everybody. Hell, I even miss Draco. I will not mind punching him in the face again, but he has got himself murdered as well. I've heard he was killed, because of something Lucius had done, but I don't know the exact circumstances.

I enter a shop when my eyes fall onto a recent copy of the Daily Prophet. A man is reading it waiting for his turn. In humungous capitals it states: The Death of Hermione Granger, Undesirable no. 1. I stare at the letters in astonishment. I don't get it. The Polyjuice Potion should have worn off a long time ago. Surely, Voldemort and his cronies would have noticed the change. Perhaps the article is placed to put me into a false sense of safety, so I may get reckless and make a mistake. Or someone has screwed up big time at the Prophet. Or they really haven't noticed it, yet. I walk away to a secluded area and check my surroundings vigorously. I'm completely alone. So I try Apparating abroad again. Still nothing, see, they know I am not dead. I'm not falling into that little trap, Riddle.

A week later, I Apparate to Hogsmeade. I found the perfect hiding place for the Amulet and I hid it in that place two days ago. After that, I Obliviated my own memory of the place I went to. So I have no idea where I have hidden the wretched item. And I now have a sly idea. Well, I don't know how good it is, but it is worth a try.

Officially, I am still dead. I don't know why they keep insisting on that. I can't think as to how that is helpful to them. I mean, they won't receive anymore information from anyone about me, if everybody thinks I am dead. And I know the real authorities still deem me around. Maybe I shall try swimming the Atlantic Ocean in order to get away from this country and its misery. Or learn to fly like _him_. Ughhh… I hate flying. I really, really do. Even with Harry I was scared, and he was a prodigy on that broom. A natural born flyer.

At least I won't have to fly to the castle tonight. They're having a party tonight at Hogwarts. It's to celebrate _his_ victory. Today is the tenth year anniversary of Harry's death. Every freaking Death Eater, Follower, and Ministerial Official is invited. So it will be crowded and they won't expect me to pop up in his headquarters. It will probably be the safest place in the entire United Kingdom for me to hide, but I'm not going there to play hide and seek. I'm going to try to get into Voldemort's personal wing tonight and kill Nagini. I've heard he added an extra tower to the castle, his own personal Hogwarts' chambers. The access to it may be problematic, since it is located in the Headmaster's office, but I have nothing to lose. I'm going to get caught in this country sooner or later, and I rather get caught fighting than hiding. I have no Amulet to protect, so I'm going to do a Harry Potter and hopefully succeed as he so often did.

Right before I go off to Hogwarts, I change my appearance again. I won't bore you with the details, just think female Draco in a dark green velvet evening dress. Entering Hogwarts turns out to be even easier than I've imagined. I grab the arm of the French Ambassador, who is waiting in line before the entrance, and he is delighted to be able to speak his own language with someone. So I chat with him upon entering. The guards probably assume I am his wife or girlfriend, and they do not bother me.

The party turns out to be as crowded as I have expected. I see several familiar faces and my wand hand is itching to hex those faces to Kingdom Come. I chat with those I do not know, and avoid everyone I once had contact with as much as possible. I have taken a couple of sips of the wine, when I start to feel a bit light headed and nauseous. I go to the bathroom and start puking. Narcissa Malfoy, who is standing before one of the mirrors, checking her own appearance, gives me a concerned glance and asks me if I am all right. I tell her I will be fine, but I am not so sure myself. I splatter water on my face and tell myself now is not the time to get sick. I rejoin the party in the Great Hall, hoping Voldemort will not be long, so I can leave for his chambers and destroy his last Horcrux.

Lord Voldemort is the last one to arrive and makes a grand entrance. It takes all of my personal restraint not to roll my eyes to the ceiling, but somehow I manage. He holds a long speech to the crowd. Man, he certainly knows how to do that. Even I feel excited, and I don't even agree with what he says. After he is finished, I feel it will be perfect timing for me to proceed with my plan. I move towards the door, when Narcissa Malfoy comes towards me with Bellatrix Lestrange, of all people.

'Miss Molière! Miss Molière!' Malfoy calls out to me.

I feel it will be too conspicuous to pretend I don't hear the loud screams. I turn and face the two women. Voldemort is standing only a few feet away from me, talking to the Minister.

'Oh, she really looks dreadful,' Lestrange says to Narcissa, while eyeing me up and down.

'Are you pregnant as well?' she asks and pulls out a bottle with orange pills from her handbag.

'Godric, help me, as if the only reason for a woman to be nauseous and vomit can be that,' I think annoyed at the presumption, but I politely say: 'No, I think I have caught a cold.'

Narcissa Malfoy puts a hand on my forehead. It feels incredibly cold, and that is a nice feeling. 'You are burning up. You should lie down.'

I do feel hot and tired, but I don't have time for this. 'I was on my way to the bathroom, if you'll excuse me,' I say.

And I turn to walk away, when the world starts spinning uncontrollably. I almost fall, but Narcissa catches me and helps me in a chair. My head is pounding severely and I watch the world around me in a blur. I find it hard to focus. I close my eyes a couple of times, but it is not helping. Everything remains in daze.

'I can't believe this is happening. Not right now, not when I still have a job to do. Come on Hermione, pull yourself together!' I think, clenching my teeth together and grabbing a hold of my head with both hands.

Suddenly, someone grabs one of my wrists and pulls my arm away from my head. Another even colder hand than Narcissa's is placed on my forehead. It feels really nice to my overly heated face and I close my eyes again, when I hear Lord Voldemort say: 'Go fetch a healer, Bella. Quickly, she's dying.'

And he lifts me up from my chair, into his arms, and carries me away from the Great Hall. My head falls towards his chest, resting on his shoulder, and I try to pull it up, not wanting to have such intimacy with the Dark Lord, but I can no longer move my muscles. I feel I'm slipping in and out of consciousness as I notice the gargoyle leap aside. We're moving up the revolving staircase towards the Headmaster's office. He is taken me to his private chambers. I've wanted to go there to begin with, but I've never envisioned beforehand that I will get there being carried by Voldemort. I sincerely doubt I am going to get a shot at Nagini now.

Eventually, I am laid down upon what I assume to be a bed. He is sitting right next to me, but when I look up at him, I can hardly make him out. My vision has become that blurry. However, one of his hands is resting on my chest, following the movement of my ribcage as I breathe, so I know he is there. We wait there in silence, when there is a knock on the door, and I hear footsteps after Voldemort tells them to enter. A female voice introduces herself as Healer Nightingale.

'You're the Healer?'

The way he says it has a distinct undertone of disbelieve and distrust in it. I don't know why.

'I graduated last year,' the Healer answers.

'Oh, so she must look young,' I deduce.

'Do you have any experience with Transfiguration Syndrome?' Voldemort asks her.

'What?' I think, never having heard of this syndrome.

'I read about it,' the Healer says and I notice her voice sounds uncertain, now. 'It's a rare cause of death amongst Animagi who Transfigure into their animal state too many times.'

'And…?' Voldemort asks, like he is unsatisfied with the response so far.

'It causes the individual to die in his animal form, when his body does not want to return into his human shape. And the human cells fall apart, until there is nothing left,' Healer Nightingale answers.

'Well, that sounds like an awful way to go,' I think, and I begin to see the relevance of his questions.

'You know how to heal the condition?' Voldemort asks demandingly.

'Yes, but she's not in an animal form. Surely…'

But I hear Voldemort interrupt the healer.

'There is no mistaken Transfiguration Syndrome, Healer Nightingale. I've seen these very symptoms on myself fifty years ago. This woman's appearance is not how she was born. Human to human transfiguration can cause the Syndrome to occur just as badly as with human to animal transfiguration. The treatment, fortunately, is the same as with Animagal Transfiguration Syndrome. So I suggest you begin to heal her, because I will be very displeased with you if Miss Hermione Jean Granger, here, dies.'

He strokes my hair before he gets up and leaves, taking my wand with him. I definitely need some shampoo now.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. The song text belongs to Alanis Morissette and is also not mine. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

 **Spoiler Warning:** all HP-books, including Deathly Hallows.

 **Rating:** M

 **A/N:** Voldemort's POV.

* * *

**The Bittersweet Taste of Victory**

_There's an apprehensive naked little trembling boy_

_With his head in his hands_

_There's an underestimated and impatient little girl_

_Raising her hand_

_But it's easy not to_

_So much easier not to_

_And what goes around never comes around to you_

_To you, to you_

_Get up, get up, get up off of it_

_Get out, get outta here, enough already_

_Get up, get up, get up off of it_

_Wake up_

Alanis Morissette, Wake up.

**Chapter five**

It is a huge disappointment to Lord Voldemort. He will not deny it. The girl had died. Hermione Jean Granger, Undesirable no. 1, had died from his oh so carefully constructed personal curse. He had not expected that to happen. He was certain when he created it that she would survive. He had ten years to think about how to get his revenge on that blasted Mudblood, and here he is, empty handed. That horrible woman has thwarted him once more by dying prematurely.

Lord Voldemort watches the trembling Healer that stands before him. Useless, they are all useless. 'What is the cause of death?' he asks sharply.

He needs to know the answer; if he will ever have a use for that curse again, then he needs to know what caused it to kill. Perhaps he can perfect it, but there is no use for it now. The thought annoys him severely. He created that curse specifically for Granger, and she wasn't supposed to die from it. Lord Voldemort does not make mistakes like that. There has to be an answer. Which, he suddenly realises, he still has not gotten! He eyes the silent Healer with fury in his crimson eyes. He knows the ferocity of his gaze makes the Healer even more nervous, and he sees the man's eyes darting around the room trying to desperately avoid the gaze of the man before him.

'Answer me,' he says calmly.

Right now, his tone is the kind that his most loyal followers fear the most. Those who know him will not misinterpret this alleged calmness and quietness for safety.

'Probably cellular degradation,' the Healer responds shaking.

'Probably?' Voldemort repeats questionably.

And he knows this man is definitely useless. An imbecile, who does not know how to do his job, how to please his superiors, his Master, Him. He will have to correct that lapse in education soon. Lord Voldemort shall show the man what is required of him.

'We don't really understand why she died,' the Healer says, closing his eyes in terror, waiting for the curse to strike him.

'I see,' Voldemort says softly and he raises his wand, but the Healer gets saved by the arrival of Liam Sloan.

'Master, all International Apparition Activity has been ceased, and I have ordered the creation of the wards around the nation to avoid her slipping away from this country in another manner.'

Lord Voldemort eyes the Unspeakable with appreciation. He has not ordered the man to raise the Nation Wide Wards, but the man has thought on his own, considered the Dark Lords needs, and has acted upon them. Yes, men like that he can use more off amongst his ranks. And he realises that unlike so many of his Death Eaters, Sloan can actually pull together two viable thoughts in a row.

'Good work, Sloan,' he says shortly, 'however, it appears these alleged Healers over here could not safe Granger's life, and they also seem incapable of answering the reasons behind her dying.'

And he directs his attention back to the terrified Healer.

'Perhaps they are trying to hide their own incompetence from me. Perhaps they are hoping that I will think it was my curse that killed the girl instead of their own mind-boggling clumsiness and failure to succeed in their chosen line of work. Perhaps they are trying to lie to Lord Voldemort.'

The Healer is now shaking his head sideways vigorously, desperate in denying the accusations. Voldemort narrows his eyes at the despicable man before him. Useless, utterly useless.

'My Lord, perhaps we should take a look at the body ourselves,' Sloan suggests.

See, there are still some intelligent people in this world. He knows there are not many, having travelled a lot and seen the world. He had soon realised people are too stupid to allow them choices of their own to make. People need to be told what to do by their superiors. By those who can think, by those who have a brain and use it. Lord Voldemort considers himself one of those people, of course. And he has reached the conclusion that Sloan definitely is a thinker too. Maybe the man can fill the empty spot Severus has left behind. He has always regretted having to kill Snape. He needed the Elder Wand though, but still, it has been a huge loss.

'Lead the way, Healer,' Voldemort says and he is using that term loosely, when it comes in concern with this sorry excuse for a man.

And so here they are, standing in the mortuary watching the dead body of Aine Alberon, a.k.a. Hermione Jean Granger. Lord Voldemort is eyeing the body in disgust. She wasn't supposed to die. She wasn't supposed to escape him so easily. She was supposed to have suffered, and suffered, and suffered some more. Ten years, ten years it has taken him to capture the girl. Only for her to end up here in this icy, cold place, beyond his reach, forever.

This is not how he had perceived his vengeance to work out. And he is angry about it, furious, and he feels wrathful. He wants to destroy something, someone, anyone for this dreadful disappointment. He wants to destroy Hermione Jean Granger. And in his anger he raises his wand at the dead body and blasts it to pieces.

And he sees it happen. Seconds before his curse hits the body, it transforms. And in that split second, he sees the face of Sir Reginald Murdoch and he knows Hermione Jean Granger has fooled him again. A horrible smile grows on his features and his eyes sparkle when he realises the wretched girl is still alive. She is still out there, waiting to be captured, waiting for him to get even with. Lord Voldemort will still get his revenge. She cannot fool him forever.

Then, it occurs to him. He pulls the Amulet of Aine from his pocket and looks at it. It seems the genuine deal, but he knows it can't be. Granger wouldn't have handed him the Amulet that easily. He flings his wand at it and the Amulet bursts into a million pieces. It is a fake. The real Amulet is protected by the magic of the elves. He would not have been able to destroy that one so easily. Granger has not only escaped him, but she also has the Amulet. He feels his temper rise again to an astronomical size. He turns around to Sloan and says quietly: 'You have until the end of this month to find her. Make sure you do.'

And he turns around and leaves the mortuary. He leaves St. Mungo's and London. Lord Voldemort goes back to the only place he has ever considered home. He goes back to Hogwarts.

* * *

And now here he is, pacing his personal quarters. It has been a whole week and he has not heard a damn thing from Sloan on his progress. He is still cross with the Daily Prophet, because they printed that ridiculous story of Granger's death. And worst of all, tonight will be the anniversary of his victory, and he does not feel like celebrating. Sloan should have brought him a real gift. Sloan should have brought him Hermione Jean Granger. Perhaps he has been mistaken about the man after all. Perhaps he is just as much a moron as the rest of them. Perhaps he shall kill him. The thought calms him down considerably. Yes, if Sloan will not hand over Granger tonight, he will torture and kill him. And finally, he is looking forward to tonight, to the party, to the festivities in his honour.

And Lord Voldemort makes an entrance. He knows how to do that. A speech, which is carefully constructed, and he brings it in a manner to not only satisfy the masses, but lull even the most critical of minds to sleep. Not that Lord Voldemort needs to worry about critique. No one will dare. He is engaged in a boring conversation with the Minister of Magic, when he sees Malfoy and Lestrange pass, screaming to some woman called Molière.

From the corner of his eye, he notices the annoyance that flies over the Molière woman's face. He is certain other people, less observant than Lord Voldemort, will have missed this brief true exhibition of the woman's feelings. Apparently, he isn't the only one bored to the teeth. It amuses him, but then, he sees the bottle with the orange pills. Merlin, please, Bella cannot possibly be pregnant again, can she? Perhaps he shall consider a permanent solution to that problem and deal with Rodolphus's little accessory tonight. He can't have his most valuable Death Eater laying in childbirth every single year. Bella has tasks to perform; important tasks.

It is then that he hears it. The thought hits his mind like so many others, but this one is so out of the ordinary that he tunes into it. It is coming from the Molière woman.

' _Godric, help me; as if the only reason for a woman to be nauseous and vomit can be that.'_

He snorts. Funny woman. He notices the confusion in the Minister's face, but chooses to ignore it. Lord Voldemort does not explain himself to his subordinates. And he decides to draw his attention towards the thoughts of that strange, funny woman, who apparently shares his repugnance for pregnancy. Maybe she even dislikes infants as well, but he knows that will make her too perfect and Lord Voldemort is very much alone in his perfection. He knows that to be the case for sure. Only the next thought that hits him, shakes him to the very core of his being.

' _I can't believe this is happening. Not right now, not when I still have a job to do. Come on_ _Hermione, pull yourself together!'_

'Granger! That wretched woman certainly has some nerve,' he thinks.

And Lord Voldemort turns and swoops over there, preparing to curse Hermione Jean Granger. It is when he notices Narcissa has helped her into a chair, and this so called Miss Molière is holding on to her head like it is killing her. He, quickly, sizes her up. This can't be. Roughly, he pulls her arm out of the way and places his hand on her forehead. He notices that she closes her eyes, when he touches her like that. She is definitely burning up. She has all the symptoms. And she obviously has been transfiguring herself again, but still… he has only seen these symptoms in one other before. And he does not like the fact that a mere Mudblood mirrors his performance so often.

'Go fetch a healer, Bella. Quickly, she's dying.'

Lord Voldemort knows he does not have to carry the girl. He knows he can levitate her. But he also knows that is what she probably will prefer, so he decides to irk her and carry her to his quarters. That same delicious cinnamon smell fills his nostrils again, when her blond haired head falls onto his shoulder. The paralysis has started. That Healer better arrive quickly or he will have not other choice but to burn St. Mungo's to the ground.

What was Granger thinking, coming here? Surely, she would have realised that it would be a one-way trip. She has to be planning something, but what can it be? Nagini? It is a possibility, but why would she take the risk? Now that he has her in custody, he can find out the location of the Amulet from her easily. And even if she could have destroyed his last Horcrux, once he has the Amulet he can create new ones. Perhaps she has been planning to get herself killed. To take the information with her to the grave. She is a Gryffindor, after all. And Gryffindors do have that strange concept of heroics he fails to see useful. Still, she has never struck him as the suicidal type. And she was there when he destroyed Murdoch, thinking it was her…

She was there. A smile creeps on his face. She was standing behind a door when he tortured and killed someone in her place. Now, that is interesting. That gives him options. Something to work with. Perhaps he shall reconsider his plans for her. Yes, he will. He feels his heartbeat speed up in excitement at the delightful thought. A challenge; she will prove to be a challenge, no doubt. But there will be the talks. If he lets a Mudblood live…

They will not dare. The mere concept of insubordination is ridiculous. Besides, it is not like he is going to offer her a place in his inner circle. He is going to destroy her, but not in the manner he first deemed suitable. This way will be far more painful for her, and far more enjoyable for him. And he does not have to risk her dying from that blasted curse, since he still has not learnt the true reason behind Murdoch's death while enduring it.

Sure the man was old, but that is no excuse to die. Dying, another human weakness he despises. But he will conquer death again. Granger will tell him where she hid the Amulet of Aine and he will become immortal forever. He places her down on the bed gently. Lord Voldemort feels very happy, as happy as he had felt when he first learnt that the concept of multiple Horcruxes is a possibility.

He looks at his captive on the bed. She looks horrible. He knows how she feels right now and he remembers. It is not a nice feeling, not a nice feeling at all. She looks awfully still though. She is breathing, isn't she? He sits down on the bed beside her and places his hand on her chest. He feels incredibly relieved when he notices the shallow movements. He can tell by looking at her that her visual has gone blurry. No one can tolerate his gaze and look back at him like that, untouched and unharmed. However, that means Granger is on the verge of collapsing completely. What is keeping Bella and that no doubt insipid Healer she will bring along with her? Whoever it is, they better know their business, because if Granger dies he will have to take it out on someone, and who will be better suited than the person responsible? And he isn't referring to himself in that context.

A knock on the door pulls him out of his chain of thought. Finally.

'Enter,' he says, impatient.

Sweet Salazar, a child. Bella brought me a child impersonating as a Healer. Really, that pregnancy thing must be doing some serious damage to her brain. He'll have to make sure to attend to Rodolphus and chop it off first thing after he's done here. This kind of nonsense has to stop.

Nightingale is what the Healer calls herself. Well, as long as she doesn't start chirping then that's fine by him. But he has to make sure. If this Healer doesn't know what she's doing, then Granger will die, and the delicious taste of revenge will be lost permanently, and that is not a viable option. So Lord Voldemort questions the Healer. She seems uneasy, but everybody is uneasy around him. So, unfortunately, that renders no information about her qualifications. Granger's thoughts are entering his mind when he quizzes the Healer. Apparently, her mind is still capable of functioning, because she is able to deduce why the Dark Lord is not pleased with Bella's choice in Healers.

' _Oh, so she must look young.'_

'Very young, Hermione Jean, very young and inexperienced, no doubt,' is the unspoken and unshared reply that goes through his mind. It's the latter that is his major concern. And when he questions the Healer about Transfiguration Syndrome, his concerns are not set at ease. Healer Nightingale is able to give a relative accurate description of the theory of the Syndrome, but obviously has no practical experience with it. He hears Granger's ironic thought upon hearing the description.

' _Well, that sounds like an awful way to go.'_

'Absolutely, but isn't any way to go horrible? However, you will not die yet, Miss Granger. Lord Voldemort does not permit it,' he thinks to himself.

And he explains the situation to the Healer, correcting the woman's misinterpretations.

'There is no mistaken Transfiguration Syndrome, Healer Nightingale. I've seen these very symptoms on myself fifty years ago. This woman's appearance is not how she was born. Human to human transfiguration can cause the Syndrome to occur just as badly as with human to animal transfiguration. The treatment, fortunately, is the same as with Animagal Transfiguration Syndrome. So I suggest you begin to heal her, because I will be very displeased with you if Miss Hermione Jean Granger, here, dies.'

His penetrating gaze falls upon the Healer, and he sees her shift uncomfortably under its force. The point has come across. Fail him, and you will suffer and die. He knows he can leave now. For a second, his eyes dart back to the woman on the bed next to him. Lord Voldemort pulls her wand out of her pocket and he strokes her hair. The last thought he hears from her, amuses him greatly.

' _I definitely need some shampoo now.'_

'By the time I'm done with you, Miss Granger, no amount of shampoo or soap will be sufficient enough to wash away that feeling.'

This thought alone makes him feel very, very happy, and he walks out of the room with sheer pleasure. Now, he feels like celebrating his victory, and he goes back to the party.

The following days turn out to be quite wonderful. The Healer isn't completely useless and has begun to slowly reverse the effects of the syndrome. Granger herself is fighting the illness with an incredible strength, and even though she is still very feverish, he can tell she will beat this disease due to the slow reappearance of her own features. Her eye colour has turned brown again, and her hair, though still blond, is starting to become her own ringlet curls.

And he is present for it all. Though, the two women in the room are not aware of his presence. At first he simply arrived visible to both, knowing that Granger's state does not give her the ability to witness his presence anyway, but the Healer got so nervous when he was around that she kept on breaking every bottle. And since he still needs the woman to do her work properly, he decided to go to the room and sit there invisible, and watch the scene play out before him.

He knows from personal experience that the fever accompanying the Transfiguration Syndrome will last several days and he plans to make use of it. People chat in their fevers. They tell you all kinds of things they will never reveal in their waking moments. Embarrassing things, things he can use against her. And so he files every thought, every spoken word, that Hermione Granger's mind comes up with, into his own mind.

And after she wakes up, being her old self again, he decides to continue this charade for a little while longer, wondering if she will let something slip to the Healer, wondering if the Healer may do something unwise. Lord Voldemort has noticed the Healer's sympathy towards Hermione Granger, and he is hoping that sympathy may trigger some action on Granger's part. But Granger isn't that stupid. Apparently, she doesn't trust the Healer at all, because she tells her absolutely nothing. And at some point, he has to physically restrain himself, when the Healer practically offers the girl a perfectly fine escape route out of his hands.

Lord Voldemort sits in his chair, when the Healer holds out her hand and offers Hermione the Portkey she has been using to get in and out of these chambers. He notices how Granger merely watches the silver-green vase, and he is ready to use a simple 'Accio', if she will attempt to take it in her hands. But to his surprise, Granger does not accept the vase. Instead she tells the Healer to keep it. He narrows his eyes because of this unusual behaviour. What is she getting at? Why doesn't she want to leave? Surely, she can't possibly think, she can still get to Nagini? He has made sure that is impossible now. Especially, after her feverish mind has revealed to him that was indeed her initial plan upon coming here.

After the Healer leaves, he watches Granger for a long time. She is sitting on that bed like she doesn't have a single care in the world. Like she is safe at home with her friends and family. Calmly, comfortable, at ease, that is the aura she is displaying and it irks him severely. Why is she so calm? Why isn't that damn woman frightened? She knows where she is. She knows who has taken her prisoner. And here she is sitting on that damn bed with her eyes closed, her legs crossed, her hands folded into each other and that serene, small smile on her face. She is happy for some inconceivable reason.

He wants to hex that infuriating smile off her face, but he knows he has to wait. She isn't recovered completely, and he does not want a repetition of the events with Murdoch. He has seen quite a number of interesting things in her mind during the last few days, but now she is no longer induced by fever, her mind has turned back into a logical, analytic state of being and the thoughts she is emanating, though still interesting, are far less revealing to him. He is wondering how many more green pastures, flowing meadows, flowery fields, and silvery streams he can take. Surely, the woman will have something far more important to consider than this obnoxious, sedating, nature thing. If he isn't so certain that it is impossible, he would have thought that she does it on purpose to annoy him.

But still, there is something about those exact nature thoughts that reminds him of something from a long time ago. Something he has done himself. If she has…? No, they do not take in women. It is an all-male monastery, after all. But there she sits, and that stupid smile reminds him an awful lot of his mentor at that place. He named the fool Hamlet, because of all his 'to be or not to be' remarks. For some insipid reason, the Knights do not use names to describe themselves. He had always found that rather inconvenient. What was that ridiculous saying again? Oh yeah, for one is all and all is one being. Such a load of crap. Just like that stupid love story. They are always full of that kind of nonsense. Well, he travelled the world and none of their beliefs stopped his rise to power. He has changed the world, while they are probably still chanting to the latest newborn leaf on a tree.

Oh, they have powers. He does not deny that. But they lack in knowing how to use that power. How to properly yield it and change things. How to shape the world around them. Lord Voldemort knows how to do that. He alone recognises the signs and shapes, and acts upon those, while they merely stand by and watch events taking place. He despises the Knights of Silence, and he knows the feeling is mutual. Yet, they do nothing to stop him. He is very grateful for their accommodating nature. He wouldn't have liked to take them on, but he does not have too. They are so passive, so demure… Not like Granger. She couldn't have been there. She is way too feisty. Too aggressive for them. And again, they do not take in women. Lord Voldemort reminds himself of that time and time again, as he watches the waves of the ocean rise and fall upon the beautiful sandy beach.


	6. Chapter 6

**Spoilers:** All Harry Potter books, including Deathly Hallows.

 **Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Don't own Star Wars and the song text either.

 **Author's note:** Hermione's POV.

 **Warning** : non-con scene up ahead, not too explicit, but still. 

**The Bittersweet Taste of Victory**

_The things that I know_

_Nobody told me_

_The seeds that are sown_

_They still control me_

_There's a liar in my head_

_There's a thief upon my bed_

_And the strangest thing_

_Is I cannot get my eyes open_

_Give me something I can hold_

_Give me something to believe in_

_I am frightened for my soul, please, please,_

_Make love to me, send love through me_

_Heal me with your crime_

_The only one who ever knew me_

_We've wasted so much time…_

… _so much time._

George Michael, The Strangest Thing.

**Chapter six**

I'm looking at a dead woman standing. A very dead woman. Healer Nightingale is standing there with some green-and-silver vase and she is offering the damn Portkey to me. And I warned her. I warned her many times when he wasn't in the room. I told the Healer that just because some place seems empty it doesn't mean that it is. I told her. I just can't believe it. I just can't. She is offering me a way out while Lord Voldemort is in the room with us. Of all the bad luck in the world.

Oh yeah, I know he's there even though he has made himself invisible. Really, all that darkness that flows around him is kind of hard to miss. I remember it clearly from that time he came to the monastery, but here, it is even more profound. No one to counter his magic, I guess.

The Healer is now waving with the vase impatiently, urging me to take it. I am able to restrain a snort. He is never, ever going to let me touch that vase. One move in its direction and, no doubt, it won't be there anymore. So I just stare at it. My face set in a blank expression. It's hard to keep my emotions in check right now, because I care about the well-being of the woman who healed me. And all I can hope is that maybe, just maybe, if I don't accept the bloody vase; then, maybe she'll live. Though part of me knows it's a long shot, but I also realise that if I don't accept the Portkey, it will arouse curiosity as too why not. Maybe that will just be enough to draw his attention away from the gullible Healer. And it is Florence's only chance, so I shake my head.

'Keep it,' I say hoarse.

And I lean back in my pillow wondering whether Voldemort will reveal his presence in the room now. Healer Nightingale drops her arm that's holding on to the vase and looks at me astonished. I'm afraid she is about to make a comment about this, so I turn away from her. Please, someone make certain, she does not add something else to the list to piss off the Dark Lord. So I pretend not to notice her presence anymore. Her mouth is standing ajar and she is gasping like a fish on land, but she turns and walks away.

I can barely hold in a sigh. It's when I realise my mind is wandering again. I need to focus. He is in the room. So I close my eyes, cross my legs and I fold my hands into each other to be able to concentrate. It doesn't take me a lot of time to regain the peaceful thoughts again that Yoda has learnt me. And I visualise a beautiful sandy beach. The waves are striking the shore in an ever repeating pattern, wave after wave after wave. It's quite lovely, peaceful and visualising it always makes me feel incredibly happy.

After a while, when I'm certain I've regained my ability to hide my mind behind the waves, I start contemplating on my options and everything that has happened. If it wasn't for the Knights I would never have been able to do this, but their ways of using the Force of Nature to share once thoughts, feelings and emotions can be used equally to hide them. I realised this six months ago, when I was in a tricky situation in Sidney with this very curious and inquisitive wizard who tried to use Leglimency on me. And I figured it might come in handy to be able to do this more consciously.

So I practised this form of Occlumency over and over again, because I would never be able to do the other one. To let go of all feeling and emotions, until you are without them… You have to be a robot to be able to do that. I've got to admit though, I wasn't exactly having Lord Voldemort as an opponent in mind when I practised this, and I doubt that I'll be able to hold it up if he becomes aware of what I'm doing, but as long as he is so blissfully ignorant of my actions, I have my mind to myself. And I am able to keep thinking underneath the layer of the National Geographic Channel. Voldemort must be going mental having to witness all those beautiful and delightful sceneries of nature. I can't help but wonder how long his patience with it is going to last.

And I am thinking about the route we took on arriving in this very room, trying to remember if there is some weak spot in it. I recall him carrying me through the Headmaster's Office towards the back, where he opened this doorway that lay hidden behind a painting. Upon crossing the passage there is this small corridor that leads to a huge living room chamber. It has large windows, which may suit me in a possible escape attempt. But I don't remember how I got from that room into this one. I must have blacked out for a moment.

Too bad I can only tell if he is in this room and not whether he is actually elsewhere in Hogwarts. I can try using my skills at the Force of Nature, but that will be extremely risky to do if he's in the vicinity. I will only try that kind of magic, if I'm certain he's left the building. But how am I going to be able to find that out, if I can't use the Force before being absolutely sure he has left?

I am relentlessly contemplating on my worries and woes, when they are gently wiped away, leaving nothing else but this incredibly relaxing feeling. I would prefer this rather strange happiness over those annoying concerns everyday.

'Much better,' I think, before my mind goes numbingly blank. And I feel incredibly fine, wonderful, when there is no need to think, like I am floating, dreaming…

' _Come to me.'_

That certainly sounds like a good idea, but where to go?

' _Come… I am right here… look.'_

Oh, yes. I see him now. He is sitting in that chair over there. I better get up, then.

And I get out of bed. I can barely stand and I almost fall, but I grab a hold of the windowsill and stay upright. I stare outside. It's a beautiful day and everybody is happy, but now, I am confused. Why did I get up again?

' _Walk over here, Hermione.'_

Here? Where is that? It sounds important to do, but…

' _Come to me…'_

Now, I remember. I better be careful and hold on to this wall for support. Otherwise my legs may give away and I will not make it there. And that will be bad, because I really, really want to go to him. And I carefully stumble over there, while he is watching me, waiting patiently for me to arrive beside him, because I am still following the wall his chair is positioned against. He holds out his hand when I am nearly there and I take it.

' _Sit down.'_

And so I land on his lap. I am completely out of breath from walking that tiny distance, but I still feel so proud that I made it. His arms are around my waist and he is pulling me close. I lean against him, knowing that I have never been this happy before, nor will I ever be this happy again. Being in his arms is the ultimate bliss.

' _You want to stay here, don't you, Hermione?'_

Of course, I want to stay. What kind of a stupid question is that? I've never felt this lovely before. And as he moves my hair to the side, his breath brushes my neck. That's a nice feeling. He kisses me there. Even better.

' _Tell me you want this, Hermione.'_

'Oh, I definitely do.'

And his tongue is trailing the contours of my neckline, while his hands are pulling up my nightgown.

' _Say you want me, Hermione.'_

'I want you.'

' _Good girl.'_

His hands are now caressing my bare skin and it is a delightful, breathtaking touch. He uses one arm to hold me around my waist as he, slowly, is moving one hand upwards. He is teasing me with those experienced, long and delicate fingers of his, before he cups my breast.

' _Tilt your head backwards.'_

And as I comply, he captures my mouth with his, demanding entry. I close my eyes and I obey his command and open my mouth. I feel his tongue inside me as he ravishes my mouth. I feel like I can't breath, but I follow his lead, wanting this titillating state to never end. When he finally releases me, I am out of breath, though still in a daze. A flick of his wrist and his wand is there and with a fluid motion I am made to turn around. He positions my legs on either side of his body and smirks at me, while he follows the lines of my face with his wand.

' _The things I can make you do, Miss Granger.'_

Another smirk. But it doesn't bother me. I feel fine. I blankly stare back into his crimson eyes as he traces the curves of my body with his wand. Another flick; and my nightgown is gone.

' _Do you like me to make you, Hermione?'_

'Sure, whatever.'

' _You will remember this, darling.'_

'So what? That doesn't bother me. I am happy. I like being here.'

' _The Imperius Curse does not Obliviate your memory of actions you've engaged in, while under its spell.'_

'Oh, so that's why I feel so dreamy. I hadn't recognised it. Not that I care, right now. It's such a wonderful feeling. And I wish he would stop chatting and do what he did before.'

' _I can lift it, if you want me too.'_

'Now, why would I want that?'

' _Kiss me.'_

'Finally, a good idea.'

When I wake up the next morning I feel dreadful, broken, like I've been run over by a freight train. My muscles have never before been this sore. What the hell? Did that Transfiguration Syndrome return to strike back at me? I thought Nightingale said I was getting better, but this certainly doesn't feel like it.

It is when I remember, and my breath stays stuck in my throat. Oh, Merlin… what have I done? I suddenly feel incredibly nauseated and I hang outside the bed to throw up. I can't believe this. I just can't. I need to shower, now. And I stagger out of bed to the adjoining bathroom. As I stand underneath the nice, cleansing, warm water my mind keeps telling me it wasn't my fault.

But I liked it. I remember that part clearly.

'You were under the Imperius Curse. You had no choice but to like it,' my sensible part reminds me.

'You would have liked it anyway; he was very good,' my emotional part nags.

I was under the Imperius Curse. I had no choice. I tell myself again.

'But you did,' that little, nagging voice in the back of my head tauntingly says. 'He told you he'd Imperiused you, and he asked, remember.'

' _I can lift it, if you want me too.'_

But I cast the thought aside after a moment of consideration. I was under the Imperius Curse when I replied to that question. He dictated my answer. I snort. I need to stop doing this. This has to be what he is aiming for as a result. I can't let him win. He isn't going to tear me apart with his manipulative ways. I am not some pureblood who has only lived in the rather ancient wizarding world and hides in shame after something like this, because she doesn't know any better. I am a Muggle-born. I have watched a lot of television and for once that comes in handy. Because I know perfectly well this wasn't my doing. It was his. And he can bloody well drop dead first, before I will fall into his little, disgusting scheme here.

I can feel my anger and hatred is overtaking me, so I sit down on the bathroom floor and start meditating. Because I remember what Yoda taught me, and I can't afford to fall in this place. He will win if I do. It doesn't take me long to feel peaceful again, and I get out from underneath the shower and put on my pyjama.

When I get back into the bedroom Healer Nightingale is waving her wand around and my vomit is gone. I'm pleased she is the one who found that, because it shows I was weak, and I'll refuse to act in that manner if he decides to grace me with his presence again. Prick. I swear that, even if it is the last thing that I'll ever do, I am going to bring that man down; sooner or later; one way or the other, he is going down.

'Peaceful thoughts, Hermione,' I remind myself, 'peaceful thoughts.'

I sway back to the bed somewhat exhausted from my extended shower, and I climb in, noticing Florence is staring at me intensely. I wish that woman will get a hobby and stop idolising me. I have no idea how Harry coped all those years, but it is annoying to be under so much scrutiny. However, miraculously, she is still alive, despite her mishap yesterday. And she looks all right, like nothing bad has happened to her. But miracles put aside, today can still turn out to be judgement day for the Healer.

'Are you all right?' she asks me.

'Fine,' I abruptly say.

'You don't look fine to me,' Florence replies in her Healer tone of voice. 'What happened?'

'Rough night. I see, you're still in one piece,' I say bemused.

'Sure, why wouldn't I be?' Florence asks, surprised.

I sigh. How thick can one get, really.

'Well, I doubt it is good for your health to offer prisoners the means to escape this wonderful facility,' I sarcastically respond, and I wave my arm around in general.

'I had a way out. I'm surprised you did not take the Portkey, though. Are you planning something?' she asks and her eyes widen in excitement. 'I can help, you know.'

Oh, Merlin… She thinks I did not take the Portkey, because I have something up my sleeve. And now, I am stuck with probably the only Healer in the galaxy that wants to be a fighter for the Light. Why do I never meet normal people? I bit my lip when I see she is still staring at me hopefully. She can't possibly have any idea what she is doing, what she is offering. She'll be dead before dawn with her strange and reckless concepts of resistance.

'I don't need any help,' I reply.

And I realise it sounds a bit too harsh and too arrogant, when I hear the words exit my mouth. But I really don't want to worry about her as well. I have enough on my plate as it is. Besides, Voldemort may wait till I am fully recovered, before disposing of her.

'So you are planning something. You have some way to strike at…' And she nervously looks around, before whispering: 'You-Know-Who.'

Nightingale is looking at me intensely, with glee spread all over her features.

'No,' I say, but she doesn't believe me. I can see it in her eyes. I lean forward a bit to change the angle of the pillows behind my back. Florence has them in her hands before I can tell her it's not necessary.

'You look horrific, Hermione. And I can tell you're hurt. You didn't move about this careful and clumsy the other day.'

I sigh. She is persistent. I'll grant her that. 'I am fine, Florence,' I insist.

'No, you're not,' she suddenly says brisk, like I am insulting her by suggestion it. 'I am a Healer, Hermione. I know when people are hurt. What happened?' she demands. 'I need you to tell me, so I can heal you.'

'I am a prisoner here, Florence. Surely, you weren't expecting me to remain in one piece.'

I am getting a bit irritated by her demanding tone. And I feel ashamed I am actually annoyed by the woman who already did so much to help me. I am about to apologise when she pulls away the sheets and starts examining my body.

'Don't you think you could ask someone, before removing their clothing?' I say shocked at her behaviour.

'I knew you were injured. Look at this,' she says commanding, and she points toward one of the bruises.

I raise an eyebrow at her. Has she gone mental? But she waves her wand around and the bruises and wounds disappear. She is good.

'Anything else you're trying to hide from me?' she asks abruptly, while lifting up my arm to check.

'You are the one who should be doing the hiding,' I reply, shaking my head.

I'm getting angry with her total disregard of my privacy and I wish she will just bugger off. She casts my pyjamas back on and takes a step back, while gazing at me.

'You're certain you're fine?' she asks disbelievingly.

I can tell she is angry with me for not confiding in her. 'Yes,' I blatantly lie. 'You should be more concerned about yourself and your loved ones, Florence,' I add.

'Really, why?' The Healer folds her arms over each other and stares at me.

'Because you were handing me a Portkey while Voldemort was in the room,' I repeat forcefully.

The Healer sighs and turns around. 'There was nobody here, but us. I don't…'

'Just because you can't see someone doesn't mean they're not there. Or did you skip all the Charms lessons in Hogwarts? Surely, you must remember the brief mention of Invisibility Charms and Invisibility Devices,' I rant sarcastically, knowing full well that subject is significant part of all N.E.W.T. Charms lessons, which a Healer is obliged to follow.

She snorts at me. She actually snorts at me. God, that woman is aggravating.

'So you were just speculating that he might have been there. There is no way you could have known that for certain. Invisibility Charms and Devices are undetectable,' she haughtily states.

'Really, are they?' I reply mockingly.

'You know perfectly well they are,' Nightingale says, and she turns and starts to walk away from me, like the discussion is over, like she has won.

'They may be, but Voldemort isn't,' I angrily say.

She halts abruptly and slowly turns around. 'You can tell if he is in the room?' she asks disbelievingly and she eyes me intently.

'I already told you that before,' I say furiously. 'Really, how many times must I repeat myself? Yes, I can tell. It's bloody hard to miss and just…'

But I halt my furious rant when I see the satisfied expression upon the Healer's face. She is actually smirking at me. I have never before, seen Florence smirk… Oh bugger … I can't believe I fell for that old trick in the book. I can just ram myself in the head for this.

'I see you finally realise who you've been conversing with, Hermione,' Voldemort smoothly says, and he moves the Healer's wand around, transfiguring her features back to his own.

He must have suppressed his magic to go unnoticed by me. And now, I've given him very vital information about an ability, that would have been far more useful to me, had he not been aware of it. He twirls Florence's wand around victoriously. And a vicious smile creeps upon his features when he sees me stare at it.

'Oh, I am afraid you were quite right. It is not good for ones health to offer Portkeys to my possessions,' he mocks.

I ignore the fact that he just called me one of his possessions and I remain silent, waiting for him to make the first move. I've already done enough damage today by chattering my mouth off. There is no need to add something else to the list of one-hundred-and-one dumb things to do while being imprisoned by the Dark Lord. His gaze falls upon me and I blankly stare back into his crimson eyes. This really is uncomfortable to say the least, but I'm able to hold my ground and not back off. He smirks again as he slowly glides towards me. And he talks while his penetrating gaze remains fixed upon me.

'Though, I suppose, I should thank Nightingale for her kind assistance. If it wasn't for her foolish actions, I may not have been made aware of your interesting capabilities just yet. Care to inform me where you learnt that?'

I remain silent.

'No?' he amusedly says, like he has been expecting this response. 'Good … I actually prefer to obtain the information this way, Hermione.'

If he is trying to make me feel uneasy and frightened, then, it is working. He has positioned himself on the bed only inches away from me, and he pushes Florence's wand in my ribcage. I look away, but he cups my head with his other hand and lifts my chin up to meet his eyes.

'Look at me, Hermione,' he whispers.

And I know what is going to happen, before he cast the spell.

'Leglimency.'

…I walk along this beautiful sandy beach. The waves strike the shore and …

…I walk along this lovely green forest. It's filled with all kinds of wonderful…

…I am sitting in this flowing meadow. The sun is shining and I feel quite happy to be in such a delightful place…

…I am on this bridge, leaning against the railing, while the delicate stream below me flows across…

And it is over. He is out of my mind. I'm gasping for breath, my head is hurting severely, while I am perspiring effusively and I can't seem to stop my hands from trembling. This is an utterly dreadful experience. I hope it will never happen again. And I know what I have subconsciously done. I did not trigger those images purposely. Somehow, they just came afloat first. I have no idea how that happened. And Voldemort is not happy. No, not happy will be the understatement of the year, considering how he is eyeing me right now. He looks absolutely furious.

So that makes two dumb things in one row and it is only nine a.m. I'm definitely on a roll today. Maybe I can revise that list.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. I do not own Star Wars and Hamlet is not mine, either… obviously. Alas, I also miss out on owning James Blunt. Sighs deeply. Palm to head, now.

 **Spoiler Warning:** all HP-books, including Deathly Hallows.

 **warning** : dubious consent

* * *

**The Bittersweet Taste of Victory**

_You can judge me_

_If you know me so well_

_I can't change my spots_

_And won't brake out of my shell_

_They will commit me_

_To a lifetime in hell_

_But..._

_I can't remember where my innocence fell_

James Blunt, Here we go again.

**Chapter seven**

Lord Voldemort leans forward in his chair; his left hand is supporting his chin as his elbow is resting neatly on his leg. He watches the clock on the wall somewhat impatiently, which is only noticeable due to the continuous tapping on the chair with the fingers of his right hand. Ten minutes … he has been watching this disgusting, peaceful nature image for ten minutes now. A growl almost leaves his mouth when another wave strikes the beach.

He leans backwards and watches his prisoner, Hermione Granger, again. There is no way this woman's thoughts can be occupied by that scenery for ten minutes. He is certain of that. She has to be hiding something else behind it. But where has she learnt that, and most importantly, how does she know, she has to do that right now? He has made himself very invisible. No one is able to detect him, no one. He is certain of that too. She probably is just doing it to be on the safe side. Yes, it is a precaution. Nothing more.

However, her choice of scenery is irritating to say the least. And again, it reminds him of his past, but they do not take in women. He shakes his head. It annoys him that he keeps considering this; that, somehow, Granger's actions keep reminding him of the Knights. Because he knows she is only doing this to annoy him. He is letting that Mudblood toy with him. And anger flares up inside his chest. That little witch thinks she can outwit him? He should use Leglimency on her right now and see how well she fares then. He snorts at the concept. Gryffindors always make lousy Occlumens. He will breakthrough to her real thoughts in a heartbeat. But Leglimency will make her aware of his presence. Something he is hoping to avoid having to do for some time to come.

Perhaps…

And a vicious smile is spreading across his features. If she wants to play … then, perhaps, he shall accommodate her. With a flick of his wrist, his wand is in his hand. He takes another scrutinising look at Granger. She is well enough to cope this physically, now, isn't she? He can't afford another mishap. Hmmm… perhaps it will be best to wait, or perhaps a little trick on her mind? Voldemort chooses the latter.

'Imperio,' he casts nonverbally.

Finally, that obnoxious scenery is gone.

'Come to me,' he commands smoothly.

And he smirks upon hearing her thoughts that are a clear indication of her lacking ability to counter the Imperius Curse.

_'That certainly sounds like a good idea, but where to go?'_

'Oh, forgot I am still invisible,' Lord Voldemort thinks absentminded, and he swirls his wand around and undoes the Charm. 'Come… I am right here… look,' he states through the curse.

' _Oh, yes. I see him now. He is sitting in that chair over there. I better get up, then.'_

Granger gets out of bed, but he notices she is still recovering from her illness when she can hardly maintain a standing position. She is staring outside and her mind has gotten lost of its purpose to be there.

' _Why did I get up again?'_

'Walk over here, Hermione.'

' _Here? Where is that? It sounds important to do, but…'_

'Come to me…'

And he sees her walk, or rather, stumble over to him. She is holding on to the wall for support. This isn't going to work. She is still too fragile to do anything for real. However, he can still mess with her mind. It won't be the same as the real thing, but it will be fun nevertheless to watch her squirm afterwards. She is nearly there and he holds out his hand to take hers. Her hand feels warm and soft.

'Too delicate,' he thinks, but, in the back of his mind, a nagging voice tells him, he won't break this witch easily.

'Sit down,' Lord Voldemort commands.

She is exhausted. He can tell, because she leans against him, panting. Out of breath from that tiny distance she has walked. And he wraps his arms around her, while her hair brushes his slits for nostrils. He scolds himself for enjoying her scent and starts controlling her feelings, thoughts, emotions and body.

'You're very happy, Hermione. You've never been this happy before, and you will never be this happy again.'

And he waits, until he is certain she has succumbed to that emotion, to that state of bliss.

'You want to stay here, don't you, Hermione?'

' _Of course, I want to stay. What kind of a stupid question is that?'_

Good, she is falling right into his trap. And he moves her hair to the side, breathing on her skin. He smiles when he feels the slight shudder go through her, and he decides to kiss her. That won't kill her.

'Tell me you want this, Hermione.'

' _Oh, I definitely do.'_

Perhaps, he can go a bit further without permanent damage. The Imperius Curse does enable him to override her feeble physical condition. He breathes in her scent again. She does smell delicious and he really wants to taste and touch her. He pulls up her nightgown and starts trailing her neck with his tongue. She is his, after all. The spoils of war. The delightful spoils… Merlin, he is not thinking that about a Mudblood. Especially not about Potter's Mudblood. He is doing this to break her, nothing else.

'Say you want me, Hermione.'

' _I want you.'_

'Good girl,' he practically purrs.

Sweet Salazar, she does feel so wonderful in his arms, at his mercy. He closes his eyes to enjoy the way her skin crawls underneath his touch. His, he will make this witch his. And the thought arouses him severely. She will beg. He will make her beg and then he will take her…

No, damned. No. She is nobody. He is Lord Voldemort and she is a measly girl. He growls. He has been reminiscing about Granger for too many years. Now that he has her, all that will be required to do is break and dispose of her. And he takes a hold of her breast and squeezes it.

'Nice,' he thinks, and his instincts take over.

'Tilt your head backwards,' Lord Voldemort commands.

She is so delightful in her submission as she leans her head backwards at his command. He captures her mouth and forces her to open it, entering her mouth with his tongue and exploring every part of hers with it by tasting and sucking on her. Her response is delicious and they match perfectly. She lets him lead while supplying him with appropriate pressure. She really is wonderful and he wants to devour her completely. She needs to turn; he needs her to turn around, now. And he pulls back, gasping for breath, enjoying the fact that she does the same. A quick spell and he swirls her around, making her face him, positioning her legs on either side of his body. He pulls her close and makes her tilt her head upwards so he can look straight into those deer brown orbs of hers. They stare back at him blankly, unfazed, while he smirks at her and follows the lines of her face with his wand.

'The things I can make you do, Miss Granger.'

The thought excites him a lot. And Lord Voldemort smirks again at envisioning what he can do to her. He traces the curves of her body with his wand. Beautiful, but that nightgown is a huge pain. And he decides to get rid of it. Much better. Such a wonderful, clever, little witch, this one, but it is time to screw around with her mind. It will be so lovely to visit her in the morning after this. She will stop her foolish resistance, immediately. They always do. It's not the first time he has broken someone and it won't be the last. His wand is keeping track of her, while he starts his actions.

'Do you like me to make you, Hermione?'

' _Sure, whatever.'_

'You will remember this, darling.'

' _So what? That doesn't bother me. I am happy. I like being here.'_

'The Imperius Curse does not Obliviate your memory of actions you've engaged in, while under its spell.'

' _Oh, so that's why I feel so dreamy. I hadn't recognised it. Not that I care, right now. It's such a wonderful feeling. I wish he would stop chatting and do what he did before.'_

He grins when that last thought hits his mind. That one was her owns. He did not dictate that one. Perfect. 'I can lift it, if you want me too,' he deviously adds.

' _Now, why would I want that?'_

'Kiss me.'

' _Finally, a good idea.'_

He snorts in triumph when he hears her last response. 'Gryffindors…' he thinks amused, when he feels her mouth on his and her tongue inside of him. Yes, he most definitely prefers women from the Lion's House. Nice and aggressive, brave and honourable, loyal to the core and feisty.

Most people assume he will prefer Slytherins. And well, he does love his own House; there is no denying that, but the women… And he rolls his eyes to the ceiling. Sure, they are useful in other areas. His society does require more Slytherin offspring and they make excellent Death Eaters if properly trained, but Slytherin women make lousy lovers. They are all inapt with the same curse that planted them in his House to begin with. They are always more interested in their own pleasure. It is never about giving and always about taking. Well, he had shown a few of them that he had other ideas in that area, when he was still a Hogwarts' student. But he has never taken a Slytherin, ever again, after leaving Hogwarts. Surely, sharing a Common Room for seven years with them is more than enough to last him a lifetime, even if he is to live forever.

He moans as Granger is moving her hands over his body where he desires her to caress him. Yes, definitely Gryffindors. Ravenclaw women are too distant, too brainy, too logical and sensible. Always over thinking ever detail, never letting themselves go and feel. And Hufflepuffers are too gently, too kind, and too accommodating to be interesting. That is so annoying when you want to do something and …

'Ooh, God, woman, you're killing me,' he groans inside of Hermione's mouth as her hand moves underneath his robes.

Too blazes with careful. She'll live. And his hands roam over her naked body. Caressing her where he pleases. His, she is his. He feels her shiver in response to his touch and it arouses him that he bruises and leaves marks on her.

'Mine,' he thinks as his hand moves between her legs, stroking and teasing her first, before his fingers enter her where she is most vulnerable. Good, she is ready.

They never make it to the bed as he casts his own clothes away and lifts her up to ride him. Her head drops backwards and her wild, frizzy curls dance around with their movement. He guides her to do his bidding, helping her move when she becomes breathless. She is beautiful in her own way, this little Mudblood of his, stunningly beautiful. He will enjoy breaking this clever witch a lot. And while they climax simultaneously, he realises that he most definitely prefers Gryffindor women, most definitely.

Satisfied, he looks down at the woman in his arms. How beautiful she lies there, still sprawled up in his lap, her head resting on his chest as she sleeps. She really isn't well, yet. He shouldn't have… It annoys him that he lost control like that. He never loses focus of his objectives, never.

However, he will still enjoy her defeat in the morning when she becomes aware of what she has done. Voldemort smirks down on her and decides to put her in bed. No need for him to keep this seat here if she is out cold. He casually flicks his wrist, but his wand does not appear. A chilling cold washes over him. He didn't!

It's when he sees it. The Elder Wand is lying beside his chair on the floor. Lord Voldemort dropped it. He had, actually, lost all control and dropped it. When did this happen? Had he gone mental?! He never before stopped thinking while engaging in pleasurable activities, and she is a bloody enemy. Desperately, he tries to remember the last time it was still in his hands. He cast his clothes off with it, of that much he is certain, but after that, it is all a blur. He doesn't even remember dropping it! He needs to know. Lord Voldemort needs to figure out exactly when he lifted the Imperius Curse of Hermione Granger.

He needs his wand back. This unfortunate incident must be corrected, immediately. There is no way he is going to allow Granger to remember this. Though, he does smirk slightly at the memory that she had not taken advantage of her opportunity to escape him, and instead, had stayed very involved in their encounter. He focuses on the wand on the ground and attempts a Summoning Charm, but nothing happens. Great … now, he can't bloody well concentrate either.

This is too humiliating. Nobody must ever find out, especially not Granger. He has to Obliviate her memory of this. No, that is too risky. He needs her to recall where she hid the Amulet of Aine.

Partly Obliviating someone is tricky business, since you need to know exactly where to target the spell and what memory needs to be removed. He knows the latter and he does have the skills to perform the charm. There is no doubt about that. With anyone else he would have had no hesitation to Obliviate them, but Granger had been showing him nature images. She added layers to her memory. It will simply be too risky. He can remove something vital inadvertently and destroy all his hopes of ever finding the Amulet.

He focuses on the wand again, but it won't budge an inch. He growls upon realising he will have to do this the muggle way. Carefully, so he does not wake Granger and makes her an eyewitness to his stupidity, he lifts himself and her out of the chair and carries her to the bed. He'll have to modify her memory. There is no other option. Since that can be easily reversed if by some fluke means he targets an area of her brain that he requires her to use later on.

Lord Voldemort walks back and picks up the Elder Wand. Disgust flutters through his eyes as he looks at it. This sort of thing never happened to him with his old wand. Frankly, he doesn't understand what the big deal is about this wand. It has never lived up to his legendary status and he begins to wonder whether the stories haven't been bogus to begin with. Perhaps he should reconsider using the old yew one again. Potter is dead, after all. So the dangers that he faced with the twin cores of the wands has been eliminated ten years ago. But somehow, he is still hanging on to this so called Unbeatable Wand, the Deathstick, the Wand of Destiny, the Elder Wand… He snorts. Another fairytale, no doubt. This wand does absolutely nothing more for him than his yew wand did.

He casts his robes back on, before moving back to Granger. She looks small and so vulnerable in the way that she lies there; fast asleep, while a predator is lurking about. It's just too bad, he can't allow her to remember. But there is no need to add a voice to his nonchalance and carelessness, even though she did not take advantage of it. Maybe she had not noticed. He has to check that, before doing something rash. Yes, she will have no defence against him while sleeping and her last memory will be closest to the surface of her mind anyway. Using Leglimency on someone, who is sleeping, does not allow full access to the mind, but it will do for now. And he flashes his wand.

… _Hermione is walking toward him in a daze. A vague mist dominates her environment, while he sits in the chair …_ The effects of the Imperius Curse are visible through the blurred surroundings, beside him nothing is in focus.

… _She is kissing him rather ferociously …_ She is still under his control here, he notices.

… _His_ _robes are gone and her eyes lose that blank stare. Her vision returns to normal as does her input of the room …_ He knows this has to be the point where he dropped his wand, and he almost loses it completely when he realises how early on he has let his guard down.

… _She rides him when, suddenly, her eyes fall on the wand on the floor; he sees himself also starting to look down, but she grabs his head and halts him with a domineering kiss …_ That little vixen noticed! And diverted his attention away, so he wouldn't see the wand on the ground!

Voldemort is out of her mind instantaneously. A furious glare is thrown in her direction, while he paces the room. This is unacceptable, totally unacceptable. He lost it while that … that … while she was able to regain her senses. He let her control the situation. Her! And he uses a Reductor Curse to vent his anger at the chair. It is blasted into pieces and all that remains are tiny toothpicks, which reminds him that they still have not located the blasted woman's parents either!

He is just damn lucky she was unable to take possession of his wand. Damn lucky. And he realises that it was probably her slightly feeble physical condition that saved him from his foolishness. Because without the Imperius Curse holding her upright, it would have taken all her strength to remain active. It is a sure testament to her resolve that she was able to. Though in the end, it had not helped her. She depleted all her powers, before trying to summon the wand, and she had crumbled up in his arms, passing out from sheer exhaustion. This he finds rather enjoyable, but still he knows he has to be a lot more careful around this witch in the future.

He raises his wand at Hermione and casts the Memory-Modifying Charm to make certain she doesn't remember he dropped the Imperius Curse. He only has to change a minor bit, so he is not worried it will backfire on him. And as he leaves her, with his temper still very much heightened, he decides to finish off that traitorous Healer. It will be a wonderful evening after all. No one will ever know.

* * *

It's early in the morning when Lord Voldemort returns to the room he's holding Hermione Granger prisoner in. He takes a brief glance in the mirror and is looking at his physical appearance with immense satisfaction. He has a little theory to test. And it came to him yesterday evening when he was torturing that Healer for betraying him. Nightingale let some interesting things slip, while he was 'conversing' with her and he observed some rather peculiar events with Granger himself. He will test his theory today. And he takes one last look in the mirror. He looks exactly like that despicable Healer. It will do just fine. He observed Nightingale long enough to mimic her behaviour and all he needs to do now to test his theory is suppress his magic.

'Let's see if that will get the mice to dance on the table,' he thinks while entering.

His eyes fall upon the vomit on the floor. It pleases him sincerely. So it looks like Miss Granger doesn't have a good start of the new day. He waves his wand around to clean up the mess and the bathroom door opens behind him. Showtime.

Granger walks past him and she can barely stay upright or walk in a straight line. She seems exhausted from her trip to the bathroom. How long had she been showering?

'I told you before, Miss Granger, that there would not be enough soap in this world to wash away that feeling,' he thinks and grins, but immediately replaces that with a stoic expression.

Fortunately, she has her back to him. He has to be more careful. She crawls into bed and he is watching her intently. She appears very calm and relaxed? Surely, that can't be? She has to be upset, hasn't she?

But during their talk he gets more and more the impression that she isn't upset at all. She is calm, relaxed, undamaged, and concerned about the dead Healer's wellbeing, while he knows for certain that she is hurting. She has to be hurt. It infuriates him that she does not acknowledge this. He can barely restrain his magic from flowing, but he succeeds nevertheless and decides to push the matter a bit further with Granger. He shows her the bruises, he made, to remind her that she is not well. She is merely pissed at him for breaching her privacy, but still, she won't accept that he is stating the obvious, the truth if you will. She is not fine!

Merlin, that woman is stubborn. She just can not be fine. She has to be broken, destroyed. She is supposed to be in pieces this morning, so that he can mend her back together again in the way he sees fit. But here she is, unyielding, strong, deviant… Damn Gryffindor women! He most definitely hates Gryffindor women. They're arrogant, stubborn, overbearing, self-righteous, annoying, obnoxious and full of themselves Lions. Gryffindors and their stupid bravery … don't get him started on that subject.

And he begins an argument with Granger about whether Lord Voldemort was in the room or not during the Portkey incident. Voldemort notices she is beginning to get extremely aggravated by Nightingale's denial of the truth. And he decides to add a bit of oil to the flames. So he snorts at her statement and he sees with pleasure that it infuriates Granger. She is almost there. She will go over the edge soon. She will tell him what he needs to know any minute now.

'So you were just speculating that he might have been there. There is no way you could have known that for certain. Invisibility Charms and Devices are undetectable,' Voldemort states with the Healer's voice, and he makes sure to have an aggravating high-and-mighty attitude while doing that.

'Really, are they?' is the mocking reply he gets.

'You know perfectly well they are,' Voldemort says, and he turns and starts to walk away from Granger, pretending to have won their discussion, pretending the argument is over and done with.

'They may be, but Voldemort isn't,' she angrily replies.

Bull's eye! She fell for it: hook, line and sinker. So she detected his presence before. Interesting. It appears there is more to Hermione Jean Granger than he already suspected. Slowly, he turns around.

'You can tell if he is in the room?' he asks disbelievingly and his gaze falls upon her, checking whether she is lying or not.

'I already told you that before.'

She is obviously furious. Her cheeks are flushed, her brown eyes sparkle and her jaw is fixed in determination. She really is cute when she is pissed and he listens to her ferocious rant.

'Really, how many times must I repeat myself? Yes, I can tell. It's bloody hard to miss and just…'

He smirks at her. She isn't lying. She can actually tell that he is there when he is invisible. And the only way, she can be able to do that, is if she can detect his magic, which he currently still is suppressing. And he sees the comprehension fall upon her face. She has finally recognised him.

'Must be my trademark smirk,' he triumphantly thinks.

'I see you finally realise who you've been conversing with, Hermione,' Voldemort smoothly says, and he moves the Healer's wand around, transfiguring her features back to his own.

This has proven a most useful enterprise. Granger has supplied him with some very interesting and vital information. She must be livid with herself for letting that slip and he twirls Florence's wand around victoriously. A vicious smile creeps upon his features when he sees Hermione stare at it.

'Oh, I am afraid you were quite right. It is not good for ones health to offer Portkeys to my possessions,' he mocks.

She does not respond to his taunts. So he gazes at her, but she has the gall to stare back into his eyes. Unfazed to the lesser observer, but he sees her discomfort, even though she does not retreat. Feisty little one. He smirks again as he slowly glides toward her, keeping his eyes locked upon hers. It's a battle of wills and he is determined to have her acknowledge her own discomfort and defeat as he starts questioning her.

'Though, I suppose, I should thank Nightingale for her kind assistance, if it wasn't for her foolish actions, I may not have been made aware of your interesting capabilities just yet. Care to inform me where you learnt that?'

She remains silent.

'No?' Voldemort amusedly says.

He has been expecting this response from her. He won't have it any other way. He shall inform her of that.

'Good … I actually prefer to obtain the information this way, Hermione,' he tauntingly states.

And he moves onto the bed, sitting opposite from her and only inches away. He pushes the wand in her ribcage. She shows fear at last. Finally, he was beginning to wonder whether she wasn't too bright after all. She looks away. Pathetic, Granger. You will not escape me that easily. He cups her head with his free hand and lifts her chin up to meet his eyes.

'Look at me, Hermione,' he whispers.

Their eyes meet. 'Leglimency.'

…She walks along this Godforsaken sandy beach. The waves strike the shore and …

…She walks in a green forest. It's filled with all kinds of nasty …

…She is sitting in this flowing meadow. The sun is shining and she seems quite happy to be in this disgusting place…

…She is on a bridge, leaning against the railing, while the obnoxious stream beneath her flows across…

He flees her mind. More nature sceneries! She, she … She is blocking his Leglimency with nature sceneries! He wants to kill her for that, but he can't… He still needs her. This cannot be a mere coincidence anymore. He has to go and check. Blocking his Leglimency like that. It is the manner in which she is doing it that is disturbing him the most. And there is also her uncanny ability to stay calm and relaxed in dire circumstances. It has the smell of those blasted monks interference all over it. Perhaps a nice Crucio will do the trick. No, she still appears too bloody fragile to him for something that invasive. Well, if she won't tell him, the Knights sure will. And he furiously storms out of the room. He will get to the bottom of this. And once he knows the truth, he will use it against her. If the Knights are involved, then they won't be of much use to her now.

He paces towards the exit, but Malfoy is there with some emergency that can't wait. Gosh, why doesn't he have any normal, average-thinking followers? Why do they all have to be so ignorant? He has use for someone, who can actually do something on their own and not make a mess of the event. He uses the Cruciatus Curse on Lucius to relieve his anger and aggravation. At least the vain man is useful for something. Too bad Malfoy did not bring his cane today. He has a splendid idea on where to plant that stick. After torturing Malfoy he feels much better, but he spends the next two days hollering against other stupid Death Eaters, who fail to do their jobs properly, and explaining to idiot Ministerial Employees that they are not allowed to make decisions on their own. After he has set them all straight on those matters, Voldemort is finally able to Apparate to Tibet.

* * *

Seeing the serene white building with its cosy, old-red roofing-tiles again makes him feel like blowing up something or torturing the next person into insanity, preferably the idiot monk who was his supposed mentor in this horrific place. So when the man, he baptised as Hamlet, finally approaches him, he can't help but smile broadly at the thought. Lord Voldemort receives a calm, genuine smile in return that he wants to wipe off the face of that despicable excuse of a monk, who calls himself a wizard, permanently. Perhaps some day in the future, he will do just that.

'Tom, you've returned to us. It is good to see you again,' Hamlet states with a slight bow.

Merlin, they really are horribly cheerful all the time. Well, he isn't going to fake his true feelings.

'That's nice for you,' Voldemort replies shortly, 'but I am not here for pleasantries. I need some information.'

'Obtaining information to receive true knowledge is a task all Men should strive at.'

Voldemort sighs. Here we go again with the dumbfounded sayings. He is long past being impressed by those. They probably just raided a Chinese restaurant and nicked all their fortune cookies.

'Has Hermione Granger been here?' he asks bluntly.

To his surprise he does not receive an immediate answer. What? Are they finally going to grow a backbone?

'It is not within my privilege to disclose information on another's pupil,' says Hamlet.

So she has been here, as he suspected. 'Then take me to the idiot who taught her,' Voldemort snaps.

'If that is what you wish,' says Hamlet calmly. 'Follow me.'

And as Voldemort follows the monk through the compound, he can't help but feel nothing except disgust for these despicable traitors. Granger hasn't told him a thing, while her position is far more precarious than theirs. And here they are, the famous Knights of Silence, ready to share everything freely with him. However, he notices they are walking in a strange direction. She wouldn't have had him as a teacher, would she? He hasn't taught a single soul in over a hundred years. Surely, he wouldn't…

But Hamlet opens the door and beckons him in. A short stature monk turns around and faces him.

'Tom, I've been expecting you, though I must say, it took you longer than I imagined beforehand,' Yoda says smiling.

Voldemort narrows his eyes. 'You were Hermione Granger's mentor here?' he asks suspiciously.

Yoda gives him a slight nod. 'You seem surprised.'

'I wasn't aware the leader of this facility is still teaching others.'

'Only under special circumstances and in specific cases. Miss Granger's capabilities did require me to get personally involved. It would have been a shame if her powers would have destroyed this … facility.'

'Oh yeah, that would have been a dreadful loss to the world,' Voldemort sarcastically states.

'Indeed,' Yoda replies cheerfully, ignoring the overflow of sarcasm. 'Care for some herbal tea?'

'Nope.'

'Hmmm, I always say that there is nothing better than a good conversation with a nice cup of tea, though I wouldn't say no to some chocolate pie if you brought any.' And Yoda hopefully stares at him.

Voldemort merely stares back. Has he gone demented or what? It's a good thing he has seen the monk in action, otherwise he may have felt sorry for Granger for getting stuck with this one as a mentor.

'Ah well, I guess it was too much to hope for. Nobody brings anything along anymore these days,' Yoda states obviously disappointed. 'Too bad, because the Force does not provide us with chocolate pie. I daresay it is a huge oversight.'

Maybe he can feel a little sorry for Granger anyway, because, no doubt, the man has definitely turned demented. He is even worse than Albus Dumbledore and his ridiculous Lemon Drop obsession. And Voldemort sits down on one of the pillows on the floor that Yoda is beckoning him too.

'So how have you been?' Yoda asks casually.

'I thought this monastery did not take in women,' Voldemort replies, ignoring the polite question.

'Not in general, no. We have a lot of sister … facilities … that do. However, I do not often meet people with that much potential and she was in no state to travel when she arrived here. So I guess an exception was made for an exceptional woman. I am sure you will agree with me that the girl is quite extra-ordinary.'

A minor inclination of Voldemort's head is all the affirmation Yoda gets, but he continues his speech in the same overly happy tone of voice.

'So why have you come? Surely, you did not need me to tell you Miss Granger has been here?'

'As a matter-of-fact I did. She, unlike you, is not inclined to share information with me,' Voldemort sneers, and his face shows the utter distaste he feels towards the monk on the other side of the table.

The corners of Yoda's mouth twitch upwards slightly. 'No, I suppose she wouldn't be,' says Yoda thoughtful. 'So what do you need to know?'

'Tell me everything about her time here.'

For a brief moment, Voldemort thinks that he sees a victorious glance dart through the monk's eyes, but he casts it aside as a figment of his imagination when Yoda starts telling him all about Hermione Granger into great detail. And the longer the little man talks the more Voldemort begins to despise him and the rest of this so-called Order of Silence.

'Silence, pfftt…,' he spats in his mind. 'They are nothing, but no good, two-timing, rat-faced weasels, whom should learn to keep their mouths shut and protect their protégés a little better.'

He realises he has never before felt more repugnance towards the monks than he has right now. They are disclosing all this information about Hermione to him, while they know very well it is done without her consent. He has always maintained a healthy loathing for cowards and in his book, the Knights, no matter how powerful they can be magically, are nothing else but a bunch of cowards, hiding away safely behind the protection of the walls of this building. At the moment nothing will please him more then to crush it down into the ground completely. He suddenly realises Yoda has stopped talking and is watching him with great interest.

'Continue,' Voldemort orders, while waving dismissively with his hand.

'But you don't want me too, Tom. Why is that?' Yoda asks serenely, but with an annoying amused glint in his eyes.

Blasted Leglimens. He forgot to keep up his Occlumency. A mistake, he won't make again.

'If you invaded my mind, then you know how I feel about talkative people, who deem themselves above all others, yet forget to practise what they preach,' Voldemort snarls.

'I see. Why are you here Tom? You don't need my help to get this information. Surely, you could have extracted everything from Miss Granger's mind. I know what kind of Occlumency she is capable off and you could have torn it apart in a heartbeat. Or … do you have certain qualms about doing so? Tell me, have you tried hurting her already or has that proven to be too difficult a task?' Yoda enquires.

'I've hurt her, old man. And rest assure I will destroy her, with your kind assistance. I simply felt no need to tire myself with breaking her, while her health is still questionable. And why should I bother when you so kindly offer me all the information I need.'

'Really, you've actually hurt her?' Yoda says disbelieving. 'That does not concur with what the Force is telling me. I believe you are mistaken.'

Voldemort snorts. 'If believing that will make you feel better about your actions monk, then feel free to delude yourself.'

'I doubt I am the one, who is deluding himself at the moment,' Yoda states thoughtful. 'You seem very eager to contradict my harmless statement. You haven't been able too, have you? How many opportunities have there been already? How many times could you have tortured the girl and found some feeble excuse not to do so? I daresay you probably haven't even used a single Unforgivable on her yet.'

A triumphant smirk flies across Voldemort's face. 'But I have, you old fool.'

Yoda stares at him and then smiles. 'Then enlighten me, how long did it take before you lost control of your magic on that occasion?'

The casual remark nearly knocks him over. It's like a bucket of ice water is thrown over his head as the image of his wand on the floor resurfaces to his memory and makes him jump to his feet. And with a flick of his wrist he points the Elder Wand straight at the monk before him.

'What are you not telling me?' he menacingly asks.

'Are you planning to restart your education here?' Yoda enquires calmly, like there is not a single cloud in the sky.

'Don't be a fool.'

'It will make you understand as to why some things happen, Tom. All those things, you deem unworthy of knowing, are now gaining up on you. I can teach you, if you are willing to stay.'

'Tell me why I lost control or I will finish your life.'

'I am afraid we both know that is impossible so why threaten me with it?' Yoda states nonchalant and he shrugs. 'Magic has many qualities and aspects you fail to perceive. It is why you lost control of the Imperius Curse and it is why you will continue to lose out to Miss Granger.'

A high-pitched, cold laugh roars around the monastery.

'That girl is my prisoner. I will tear her apart, and when I am done, I will reassemble the pieces in a way I deem fit. I may even make her come here and destroy you all. Tell me, Knight, oh great warrior,' Voldemort mocks, 'what will you do if I send her here with orders to kill you all. How will you stop your former pupil? By destroying her for your failure, your inability to keep her interested in your wonderful, little fairy tales? Your convictions seem to lose their interest among those who start out their education here. How many others have left without hearing you out?

You've failed miserably, monk, and because of that, I will make certain to continue her education. After all, she has shown that she has enough level headiness and intelligence to leave this place before turning into one of you. And I can show her what true power entails. She will realise her folly was listening to the likes of you in first place, and she will be mine in no time. The temptation to do proper magic will be too great for her to throw away. I will prove to you that your ways are obsolete by converting your precious student to my ways, and once I am done, I will send her here, so you can do my bidding by disposing of her for me.'

'I have every confidence in Miss Granger's ability to resist your ways,' Yoda merely says.

'You wish to challenge me, Knight?'

'I have no use to compete over universal truths. Hermione Granger will defeat you.'

'She is at my mercy,' Voldemort hisses angry, 'I can assure you that the lure of the Dark Arts will not be overcome by her.'

'It is you who is at her mercy, Tom. But I understand that you do not have the capabilities to realise that.'

Voldemort scowls, but he does not respond verbally to the in his mind ridiculous statement. After a long, tense silence, a devious smile is visible as he prepares to leave the monastery.

'Fine, it seems we have nothing more to say to each other. I will send Granger your regards, monk. I am certain she will be very pleased to hear all about our conversation and your lack in discretion concerning her privacy.'

And he laughs loudly as he Apparates back to England. It's when he arrives at the outskirts of Hogsmeade that the smile vanishes from his face as he sees the front of the wave from a large explosion hurtle towards him.


	8. Chapter 8

**Spoilers:** All Harry Potter books, including Deathly Hallows.

 **Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Don't own Star Wars or the U2 song text either. I am never going to get rich writing fan fiction, ain't I? XD

 **Author's note:** Hermione's POV again.

* * *

**The Bittersweet Taste of Victory**

_Don't believe the devil  
I don't believe his book  
But the truth is not the same  
Without the lies he made up_

_I feel like I'm falling  
Like I'm spinning on a wheel  
It always stops beside a name  
A presence I can feel  
I...I believe in love_

_Stop_

U2, God (part 2)

**Chapter eight**

It has been two days now, since Lord Voldemort left my room furiously and he hasn't returned, yet. Not that I mind the latter. Let's face it, the longer he stays away the better for my health. And currently, I feel quite fine. So I am kind of busy trying to stage a prison break from this room by getting this locked door to buckle. I have given up on actually picking the lock, since that has proven useless. I really should have let one of the twins teach me how to do that. Well, I suppose it is too late for regretting opportunities missed in the past.

So now I am focusing on making this blasted door fall of its hinges, because I know I have to be far, far away from this place when he decides to return. He didn't look too pleased when I inadvertently blocked his Leglimency. I was certain at first I was going to get Crucio-ed. I even noticed how his wand-hand twitched slightly, but he, apparently, changed his mind and merely looked at me with that shrewd expression on his face. He must have realised. I know he did. Lord Voldemort knows where I gained my knowledge and he has probably gone over there to verify his assumptions.

I groan at the thought. The Knights of Silence are just too talkative when it comes down to telling him stories, if Jareth was any indication. And I wish for once they would stick to their believe system that states talking is a waste of magical energy. But I know they are probably just handing him cookies and telling him all about me. I hit my head with the palm of my hand. Why did I not prevent this? Yoda is going to be right. I will fall into darkness without backup. I can't do this on my own. Man, I wish those bloody monks wouldn't be so accommodating for once.

I hear footsteps approaching on the other side of the door and I run back to the bed and jump in, because faking to be weak and feeble seems like a prudent idea. It may just hand me an opportunity of escape. The door opens and Narcissa Malfoy enters. She tosses some robes on the bed without saying anything and turns back to face the now closed door, raising her wand at it. What can she possibly want? And I stare at her when she says over her shoulder: 'Quickly, we don't have much time to get you out of here. You need to get dressed as soon as possible. He is expected back within half an hour and it will take you that long to reach the boundary of the Hogwarts' Anti-Apparating Wards.'

I shake my head in disbelieve. My ears must have deceived me. For a moment there, I thought a Malfoy was going to help me escape this facility. I snort, but she faces me again and hands me a polished stick of vine wood that I know has a dragon heart string as its core. I recognise the wand in my hand; my own wand. I have never thought I'd ever see it again. I lost it that day when the three of us were taken to Malfoy Manor and I was certain it would have been snapped to pieces by now, but, here I am, holding it. It feels wonderful to be able to hold on to it again and I feel the power of my wand flowing through me. I have never before realised how much those other wands were holding me back. I stare at it mesmerised and I stroke the vine wood with my hand. This is too weird.

'I held on to it, when you and your friends escaped from my house. Thought it might come in handy someday. I guess I was right,' Narcissa explains, 'hurry.'

And she nods to the clothes on the bed when she sees I'm still not moving. This has to be a trap of some kind. It just has to be. And my utter surprise must be written all over my face, because my jaw has dropped and I just know my eyes have never, ever before been this widened. Narcissa looks at me and says that she will explain everything on the way out of here. And I move to get the clothes, still not believing what is happening. She is writing her own death sentence.

'Why?' I ask.

'He killed Draco,' she says harshly, her face contorted with hatred, 'he tortured and killed Draco.'

Nothing else needs to be said. I quickly get dressed and we leave the room silently. Narcissa is walking behind me and is pretending to hold me prisoner as we walk past several people. But nobody dares to question her and we make it to the Statue of the Humpbacked Witch and the secret underground passageway to Honeydukes unscathed.

'Dissendium,' Narcissa casts when the corridor is empty.

She steps in the secret tunnel with me, and starts explaining that Hogsmeade is warded as well these days.

'You need to get to the very edge of the town. Do not go to the Apparation Portals. They are heavily guarded. Go left to the Shrieking Shack. There, you can Apparate again if you are close enough to the Shack itself. No one knows this, since he keeps it a secret, but the Shrieking Shack seems to emit some kind of magical blockade that prevents the Wards from function to their full potential around it. Make sure you are near enough to the house, before you try to Apparate. I've seen the effects the Wards around this place have on people who try Apparating through them. It didn't look to me like something you would like experiencing,' she says warningly.

I have no doubt about that and I nod to indicate that I understand what she has told me.

'I can't thank you enough,' I say and I look at her with worry. She is going to be Crucio-ed to insanity. 'Why don't you come with me?'

'No!' she says forceful.

And I take a step back in surprise. No need to bite my head off, Malfoy. I am only concerned for your safety, but Narcissa talks before I can say anything in response to her snappish answer.

'I want to see the look on his face when he realises you are gone. I want to see the defeat in his eyes,' Narcissa says vengeful and through gritted teeth. 'He can't hurt me anymore, Miss Granger. He has destroyed my life long ago when he took my son. And I've been waiting years and years for this day. Ever since I realised how much he was obsessing about getting his hands on you. And I knew that if he would ever hold you as his prisoner it would be the day I could avenge what he did to Draco. So now, the time for revenge has finally come. And I am going to cherish every last second of the Dark Lord's despair.'

'Lucius?' I ask merely to be polite.

'Lucius,' Narcissa spats, 'I hope the Dark Lord will torment him severely for this. He did nothing, you know. When Draco was screaming …' she falls silent and stares at the wall, obviously reliving some of the worst memories of her life, before she looks back at me. 'Make sure you're not caught again, Miss Granger. Live. It will drive him mad.'

'He already is,' I state cocky.

She snorts and nods. 'True.'

I start to walk, when something comes to memory and I turn around to face Narcissa again. 'Do you have access to his snake?' I ask.

Narcissa shrugs, uncaring. 'Sure, I need to feed it when he's gone.'

And I feel the smile creep up my face. 'Do you really want to get even with him?' I deviously state.

Now, I have her full and undivided attention, and a vengeful hunger is constantly present in her eyes. The answer to my question is written all over her face.

'Then, kill the snake, Nagini,' I add.

Narcissa looks confused at me. 'Kill his pet? Surely, he will just get a new snake. I doubt that will bother…'

'It's a Horcrux,' I tell her, 'his last one.'

And she looks at me like it is Christmas in June. 'Thank you,' Narcissa says and she swirls around to go back into the Hogwarts' corridor.

I will always remember the blissful expression on Narcissa Malfoy's face when she thanked me for informing her of another manner in which to target Lord Voldemort. I start running down the underground passageway. I need to be far away from this place if Voldemort returns and finds out his Horcrux is destroyed. From the look in Malfoy's eyes I have no doubt she will succeed. Things are developing rather strangely. I came here to destroy the Horcrux with little hope of actually being able to achieve that feat, and now, Narcissa Malfoy of all people is going to do that for me.

I run and run, until I reach the trapdoor to the cellar of Honeydukes. Lots of chatters are heard in the distance. I pull up my hood from the cloak I am wearing. And I make certain to keep my wand hidden, but at the ready, when I make my way into the shop. It is a busy day, which makes it easy to mingle undetected into the crowd.

Outside, however, is a different story. The weather is horrific. It has started raining cats and dogs and the wind is howling through the streets of Hogsmeade village. The few people that are walking through this weather are hurrying to get back indoors and I notice that the guards are conveniently gathering around the few Portals for cover. After a few steps I am already completely soaked from the pouring rain and I go left as Narcissa said. In a sturdy pace I walk towards the Shrieking Shack, when I hear a familiar voice. It's that brown-suit-fellow from the shop. I have nowhere to hide and as he walks around the corner he stares straight at me, along with his companion, Rodolphus Lestrange. Shit.

I see the looks of recognition and I am grateful I kept my wand ready. 'Impedimenta!'

And I start running to pass them quickly, when the high pitched shrieking sounds of the Caterwauling Charm become activated. They must have added some kind of Spell Detection Charm to it. Unfortunately, this means that the guards will no longer be hiding away for cover from the rain and I will run into more resistance on my way to the Shrieking Shack. I blast several trees toward three idiots that are trying to halt me, when I hear Lestrange's voice behind me. He must have thrown off the Impediment Charm already.

'Crucio!' I hear him shout.

I dive to the side, roll around, and aim again. 'Duro!'

My curse hits the Death Eater dead on and he makes for one very ugly statue. Where is the other one? I swivel my head around. After all, if Lestrange has gotten rid of the effects of my curse, so will he, but I don't see him anywhere. I don't like this at all. Sloan may look ordinary, but he is way too keen for my taste.

'Homenum Revelio,' I cast, but there appears to be nobody in the vicinity at the moment.

This is not good. I can't possibly think of a motive as to why the man is not chasing me. However, I don't have time to reminiscence on the strange behaviour of one of Voldemort's followers, because I need to get out of this alley, before I am trapped inside of it.

'BANG!'

A loud explosion roars dead ahead and I hear loud screams come from its direction as I run across the corner and notice the entire road toward the Shrieking Shack is completely obliterated by some curse. In the distance I see Sloan standing in front of the alleged haunted house. He anticipated where I was heading and he must have used one of the Apparation Portals to get there before me. Apparently, he also knows enough about me to realise I won't be flying over there. I shiver at the thought or because of the cold, wet weather or maybe it's a bit of both.

'Fine, a Portal it is,' I murmur through gritted teeth as I wave goodbye to the Shrieking Shack option, and I swirl around. 'Expulso!' I cast out of reflex.

The wall of the house beside the guards that are about to apprehend me explodes and they are blasted across the street. I run back into the alley, from which I came, toward the nearest Portal, determined to take down anyone who dares to stand in my way. Alas, there appear to be quite a lot of them who dare. Narcissa wasn't kidding when she mentioned those Portals are heavily guarded. I can see the Portal at the end of the main street, but there are at least twenty morons blocking my path to it. And I kind of lost track of time also. How much longer until Voldemort gets back here? I know I have to hurry.

Several curses fly in my direction. I am able to counter them all and as I dive behind the water fountain for cover I re-evaluate my plan. This is never going to work. I am being way too kind. I need to leave so why am I playing around with these idiots? Voldemort isn't around, after all. It may be safe to use the Force of Nature to get rid of them all in one single blow. If I can make it work.

So I concentrate and let the magic build up inside of me… I can feel it move to my right hand and I am able to hold it there. It's working. It's going to work. It has to work. I roll away from the cover that the stone basin of the fountain is providing me. And I release the magic upon the idiots in the street from my lying position on the ground. But when it leaves my wand-hand I know I overdid it. People are screaming and running to get out of the way and my left hand flies to my mouth when I see the shock wave of raw magic fly through the air, destroying everything in its path.

'Oops.'

The shock wave leaves nothing standing in its wake, so there goes my Portal out of here. I know I have just blasted it to pieces myself. I scramble to my feet and turn around to find another exit, when the bellowing sounds of the shock wave behind me suddenly cease their roaring and it becomes eerily quiet. Even the rain seems reluctant to disturb the silence with its clattering noises and has stopped falling out of the sky.

Apprehensively, I turn around and the most disturbing visual meets my eyes. The completely, all consuming, everything-obliterating shock wave has come to an immediate halt and seems frozen in midair. What the hell? How? Ooh, shit… And I curse my luck or rather lack thereof, because I can only think of one person capable of halting the forward motion of something that destructive.

Slowly, I begin to move backwards. I cling to my wand with so much force I may leave a permanent imprint of it in the palm of my hand. Would Narcissa have killed the snake already? He will be mortal if she did… But all wonderful concepts and ideas, involving nicely aimed Killing Curses, vanish from my mind when the roaring sound returns and the clouds of dust and debris that make up the shock wave starts moving in the opposite direction, meaning towards me.

'Yikes!'

I start running despite knowing I won't outrun the damn thing anyway, but I have to do something. I halt and swirl around, searching for some form of cover. It's when it hits me. I point my wand to the ground beneath me.

'Deprimo! Sealio!' I cast consecutively and I hear the magic howl above me as it passes.

'Lumos,' I whisper.

It is kind of creepy, lying here, underneath the ground with nothing to see but earth everywhere. Images of being buried alive come to mind, but I know I was just in time, because the soil roofing almost collapsed due to the passing shock wave. I shiver. And I quickly cast a drying charm on my clothes. I must look unbecomingly filthy right now, but there is no time to consider proper appearances, when one is trying to avoid getting whacked.

I hope Voldemort won't realise what I did though, because it is not like I have a lot of room to manoeuvre in this pit if a duel becomes eminent. And the longer I think about this, the more I begin to realise this wasn't such a good choice of action. It may have seemed like the only way out at the time, but now I am stuck in this personally dug grave and I have no way of knowing what is going on at the surface, which means, I have no way to know whether it is safe to blast my way out of here.

Fortunately, I am only afraid of heights. Claustrophobia isn't a problem of mine. Impatiently, I tap with my wand on my leg. What will Voldemort be doing up there? I can't hear a thing in this hideout either. Maybe I shall try to magically dig a very tiny, little, minuscule hole to the surface? Then, I may be able to hear what is happening. What are the changes of him noticing that anyway? A hundred to one? And I can't just lie here. I have to do something, don't I? Before he has the time to consider all his options and make his move.

And just how much oxygen will a small place like this hold? Though, I believe the theory on matters such as these states that carbon dioxide will definitely kill me a lot sooner. I read somewhere that it will make your brain go numb and dizzy. Apparently, a headache is one of the signs. And I do feel slightly light-headed.

How long have I been down here anyway? It feels like forever, though I know it can't be more than minutes if not seconds, can it? I really need to know what is happening. And I do feel a headache coming up, now … And a tiny hole will help ventilate this place.

Besides, he is going to find me if I don't do anything. It's not like I am scared lying here. I am definitely not scared. This isn't scary at all. What's out there, that is scary. This is quite comfortable. Why is there dirt falling down on top of me? The roof isn't collapsing, is it? It's a good thing I am not claustrophobic at all. Otherwise I may have panicked and done something rash. No, I am quite calm and collected. This is an informed decision. I really can't breathe in here. I need some fresh air, NOW!

'Confringo!'

And I blast the earth above me out of the way. I crawl out of the tiny hole, panting. Thank Merlin, I am out of that hellhole. Immediately, I feel a curse soar past my head, because my hair stands up straight from the sheer force of it. I look sideways and to my surprise I notice the buildings are still standing. Everything seems very intact. How is that possible? But I don't have time to relish on that, because I see him and my bones turn cold, because, what is a lot worse, he has definitely located me as well.

Lord Voldemort is standing at the end of the street. His wand is raised and his crimson eyes are very fixed on my position. I see the smirk on his snakelike features as he slashes his wand and something purple hurtles towards me. I am unable to move and I stare in terror at the approaching curse when it misses and dissects the potted plant next to me into pieces. The blast throws me out of my frightened stupor and I remember I also have a wand and am quite capable of casting a spell or two with it. But as I cast a reply he is no longer there. Damn it. Where has he gone to? I better not stay here. And I run to the building at the other side of the street to find some kind of cover somewhere.

'Crack.'

I hear the sound behind me and I swirl around, but the curse is already cast and impacts mere inches from my head on the wall of the house behind me. I watch the bricks fly by and I am quite confused. Did he just miss again? From that short distance? I see Voldemort tilt his head and narrow his eyes at me. Yeah, I believe so. He definitely missed. A snort escapes my mouth and for a moment we merely stare at each other, when: 'Avada Kedavra!'

I don't look back, but grab the doorknob, fling the door open and run inside as I hear the impact of the Killing Curse, I cast, behind me. Really, Narcissa did have all the time in the world to finish off that snake by now. So if she hasn't done it already she never will.

There better be an exit in the back of this establishment. There isn't. 'Defodio!' Now, there is.

And I start running, when … a large bang makes me jump around and the building I just vacated starts hurtling towards me. 'Protego!' I yell.

But I get blasted of my feet and thrown through the air, until I crash into some wooden boards that crack on impact, enabling a large splinter to enter my leg. I smash to the ground and I feel how my left arm breaks beneath my weight when I fall on top of it.

'Ouch,' I say groaning.

'Crack.'

Voldemort Apparates right in front of me. I can't believe my Killing Curse missed him. Surely, my aim isn't that bad. He was only a few feet away. Panicking, I just cast whatever comes to mind first, while I am still lying on the ground.

'Expelliarmus.'

'Protego.'

The two spells collide and then … nothing … They merely seem to extinguish each other. What on earth is happening here!?

Voldemort scowls and paces towards me. It's when I realise he Apparated! The Wards must be down! Why did I not realise this sooner? I could have been out of here ages ago.

Too blazes with Destination, Determination, and Deliberation! With a loud crack I Dissapparate away from the wretched town without so much as a single idea as to where I am heading. I hope it's some place safe.

I Apparate into an empty house. All I see is concrete, everywhere. I check myself, but my unadvised way of Apparation has not gotten me Splinched. Thank Merlin for that. I pull the large splinter from my leg and it starts haemorrhaging severely.

'Episkey!'

My leg goes from feeling extremely hot to very cold and I have to repeat the Healing Spell a few times, before the bleeding stops. I sigh out of relieve and glance around. I am about to fix my broken arm when I realise where I am, because I am looking through a large window into a very familiar street. And even though at one time in my life I may have considered this the safest place in the whole wide world, it most certainly is not a safe haven right now. I am at my parents' house! My old home! Any idiot can figure…

The world starts spinning uncontrollably when I jump to my feet. Too fast I realise. I reach around for something to hold on too, but there is nothing there and everything turns black before my eyes as I plummet to the ground again, passing out due to too much blood loss.


	9. Chapter 9

**Spoilers:** All Harry Potter books, including Deathly Hallows.

 **Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Don't own Star Wars and the song text below, but I think I mentioned that in previous chapters already.

 **Author's note:** Voldemort's POV.

* * *

**The Bittersweet Taste of Victory**

_Never forget your secret is safe with me_

_Just look at all the wonderful people_

_Trying to forget they have to pay for what you see_

_It's a dream_

_With a nightmare stuck in the middle_

_But where would you be_

_Without all of that attention_

_You'd die_

_I'd die_

_We'd die wouldn't we?_

George Michael, Star People

**Chapter nine**

Lord Voldemort growls as he sees the shock wave of raw magic approach his position. He moves his hand up into the air and concentrates his magic on halting the destructive force. The girl escaped. It is the only explanation. None of his idiotic followers are even remotely capable of tossing something like that around. Nor will they have the knowledge on how to do so. The impact he is expecting comes quickly and the amount of force behind it does not disappoint him. Too bad for her, it is mostly unfocused and unguided; otherwise he may have experienced some difficulty in halting it.

'She definitely needs to improve her skills,' he thinks, grinning.

His initial thought upon seeing the shock wave was to simply diminish and remove the magic from the air, but upon feeling it he changes his mind. There is a strange familiarity in the magic. A simple wave of his hand and the magical properties of the wave shift to his favour. It is remarkably easy to transfigure, but he does not linger on this thought. He is Lord Voldemort, the most powerful wizard that ever walked the face of this earth. Naturally, he will be able to convert the magic into his own. He adds a more specific target into the focus of the wave. After all, there really is no point in destroying the entire village, when he is only aiming for Granger.

'Let's see how well you fair with this one,' he mutters, and with a casual gesture of his hand, the wave moves back toward the original caster.

And he folds his arms over each other and watches with glee as the magic roars down the streets of Hogsmeade village, knocking everyone unconscious that comes in contact with it. He clicks several times with his tongue disapprovingly and shakes his head, when the wave reaches the boundaries of Hogsmeade and ceases its roaring without having been compromised once. He has to admit it somewhat disappoints him. He was expecting her to at least be able to put a minor dent into his magic. Sure, she isn't going to be able to stop his kind of power, but he was counting on her trying and giving up her position when she did that. Now, he has to go look for her among all the other bodies. A most boring and dreadful task. Something not worthy of him doing at all, but since he knocked out all his servants as well, he has little choice.

He stalks into the street and flips out his wand. And as he glides past the bodies he begins to regret sending the blasted wave back at her more and more. If she was still standing upright instead of lying unconscious on the ground, he could use magic to locate her. But as long as she is out cold, she won't be triggering any magical signs for him to pick up on. He flips over another body and sees it is Goyle.

'Moron,' he mutters.

But as he walks on and checks more and more people without finding Granger he begins to feel slightly apprehensive. She couldn't have found a way to escape through the wave, could she? No, he knows that is impossible. He would have detected her going through the magic if she had, but then… where the hell is she?

He stands at the end of the street, looking back into it, contemplating on how she eluded him, again. He narrows his eyes and thinks about what he would have done in her place. Find some shelter. But where? The buildings would not have provided her... Underground! Clever girl, but not clever enough. He aims his wand at the ground, when…

BANG!

Earth and some debris, that covered Hermione's hideout, fly through the air in the middle of the street. Voldemort snorts as he sees Granger crawl out of her shelter in quite a distressed state of mind.

'Frightened, my dear?' he thinks, amused.

It amuses him that she picked his company over staying hidden in relative safety. 'But I did not give you permission to come out of there,' he whispers.

And he hurtles a Burying Jinx towards her, but to his surprise it soars over her head. 'I'm getting sloppy,' he concludes, irritated.

But he smirks broadly when he notices Granger is now staring at him and she is obviously regretting her rather rash decision. Not that she would have been safe underneath the ground any longer anyway, but it is rather kind of her to recall that he is a lot more frightening than some personally dug grave. And since she has the presence of mind to remember that, he doesn't feel the need to bury her alive again. However, a little pain is appropriate. He slashes his wand and the purple jet leaves. To his immense satisfaction Granger is too frightened to even move, but his pleasure fades when that curse also misses and destroys the potted plant next to her. What is wrong with him?

The blast seems to pull Granger out of her stupor and he sees that she actually has the nerve to cast a curse in his direction. How did she obtain a wand? He swears he will find out who the idiot was that lost his wand to her and they can watch how he will snap it to pieces and toss them out on the street to live like muggle filth. Granger's curse is approaching him, but he simply Disapparates from his position and Apparates back right in front of her. He will show her, trying to curse him.

'Sectumsempra!' he casts.

The bricks fly across the sky as his curse hits the wall of the building behind Granger and he tilts his head and narrows his eyes. Something strange is going on here and a couple of Yoda's words come back to mind, while he is staring into the girl's eyes.

' _You seem very eager to contradict my harmless statement. You haven't been able too, have you? … It will make you understand as to why some things happen, Tom. … Magic has many qualities and aspects you fail to perceive. It is why you lost control of the Imperius Curse and it is why you will continue to lose out to Miss Granger.'_

Somewhere in the back of his mind he registers, the snort that escapes Hermione's mouth, the casting of the curse and her running indoors, but he is still too occupied with Yoda's remarks and his third miss in a row. He has to find out what is causing these anomalies. The jet of green soars past him, and he blinks. What does she think she is doing? He hears the violent impact of the curse behind him and he swirls around to stare at the building that is partially blown away. His head turns back to the house Granger just ran into. Did that little witch just cast The Unforgivable Curse? At him?!

His eyes fall back on the amount of destruction of the building behind him. The damage is too big for an ordinary misfired curse. And he knows she did not cast a Blasting Charm, because they sure as hell aren't green. He knows he ought to rejoice at the fact that she even cast the Unforgivable. Yoda will be so disappointed. But she cast the bloody curse at him. Him! His temper rises tremendously and he blows the building before him out of the way. If she is in there, then she certainly won't escape this blast intact.

Voldemort smiles satisfied as he sees the building being torn to pieces before his very eyes and Granger is being taken for a ride along with the rest of the debris. She has the conscience of mind to cast a Shield Charm, so she'll live. She crashes into the Shrieking Shack and plummets to the ground. The Shack! He Apparates in front of her and notices to his utter delight that she has definitely hurt herself in her little flight and landing over here. He decides to disarm her. Maybe a relatively harmless spell will not miss.

'Expelliarmus,' Voldemort casts.

'Protego,' replies Hermione in reflex.

The spells hit dead on and die out. He scowls and notices Granger is also utterly astonished by what just happened.

'Fine, I'll just grab her the muggle way,' he thinks and paces toward her, when…

'Crack,' she Disapparates out of there.

Voldemort stares at the empty spot that Hermione Granger only moments ago vacated and he is reminded once again that he does not like losing one bit. No, that is an understatement. He hates losing. Lord Voldemort does not lose! Never! It is quite erroneous to think otherwise. And he blasts the Shrieking Shack to Kingdom Come as if it is the haunted shack's fault Granger Disapparated. He hopes she has gotten herself Splinched so badly that they will find pieces of her all over England. That … that … annoying pest of a woman has escaped him again. It is becoming a bloody theme song. Well, she can't have gone far in the condition she is in.

It's when he realises the Nation Wide Wards are down. He gave the order to lower them after he had gotten a hold of the girl. They need to raise them immediately. Before she recovers from her injuries and is capable of Apparating abroad again. He Apparates straight into the Ministry and orders the shocked wizard that is on Ward Duty to stop all International Magical Travel instantaneously until further notice.

'No exceptions!' he furiously shouts, before Apparating back to Hogsmeade.

He looks at the dead silent town. At least there are no witnesses to his little cock up. Everyone is still unconscious due to the impact they sustained with his magic. Good… Now, they will think they are responsible for the escape, which they are of course. And he stalks past the lot of them to go back to Hogwarts. They'll wake, eventually. It's not like he cares. If they all catch pneumonia lying here in this stinking British weather then that serves them right for failing him.

He enters the castle in the middle of rush hour. The students are all walking the corridors to get to their next lesson. Titchy, little midgets. But they have the good sense to get out of his way, unlike Malfoy who throws himself on the floor before him. What is that man doing? Is he just begging to get Crucio-ed or what?

'Master, Master,' Lucius grovels, 'there were large explosions coming from Hogsmeade village.'

'Really, Lucius? I hadn't noticed,' Voldemort sneers sarcastically.

A small whimper escapes Malfoy's mouth and Voldemort notices that Lucius is thoroughly frightened. Not that that is unusual, but in this case it is more extreme than normally. And when it comes down to Lucius, that is saying something. He smirks.

'Yes, Lucius. I have already noticed Granger escaped, while I left you in charge,' he thinks, relishing in the man's fear of him.

However, the imbecile is not providing him with any information at all and instead is merely halting him by kissing the hem of his robe. Too afraid to tell his Master what has transpired. Too afraid to tell him he failed. Clinging on to every last shred of hope, no doubt, that maybe he hasn't found out Granger is gone, yet. The man should have been too afraid to go anywhere near him. That would have been far more preferable than this obnoxious interruption of his time.

'Have the good sense to get out of my way immediately, Malfoy. You're wasting my valuable time,' he says positively ticked off about now, and he kicks Lucius aside, before pacing to his quarters.

Voldemort strides to the room, he held Granger prisoner in. He needs to confirm his suspicions that she hadn't gotten out on her own. When he sees the door is still in place and so are the rest of his charms, he knows he is right. She had help. Someone betrayed him. If Granger would have gotten out on her own merit, there would be significant damage to the ward surrounding her room and to the door, no doubt, but everything appears fine. He opens the door to check whether some fool was overpowered by the girl and is lying bound and gagged on the floor, but the room is empty and intact. One of his followers has betrayed him and there aren't many options, since he doesn't allow access to his quarters to everyone. He walks into his living room, contemplating on the short list of people he needs to question, when he hears a low scraping noise coming from the dining room.

Lord Voldemort opens the door and takes in the scene before his very eyes. Narcissa Malfoy is sitting in one of the dining room chairs with an air of superiority and triumph. Like the chair is a thrown and she is on top of the world. Yes, that is the only way to describe the woman's foolish posture. Her legs are crossed over each other, her arm is resting on the back of the chair and her hand is tapping with her wand on the table. He is watching it with a degrading expression on his face. Does she plan to duel him? A smirk crosses his face for he finds that thought incredibly amusing. Narcissa replies with an all-knowing, victorious smile, like she has one up on him.

So it seems he doesn't have to go looking for Granger's little helper after all. This certainly is a surprise, though he guesses he should have seen it coming. That blasted Black family has caused him nothing but trouble in the past. Well, apart from Bella that is. The only decent one of the lot. Still, it is accommodating of Narcissa to remain behind and face his wrath. Perhaps she thinks he will just kill her quickly if she doesn't flee. Big mistake, Malfoy. He is about to break the tense silence between them, when Narcissa speaks.

'No Granger?' she tauntingly says and sheer glee spreads across her features.

Voldemort blatantly stares at her gleeful expression. His face remains blank and emotionless, though inside of him a storm is beginning to take shape. That woman will suffer severely.

'I saw the explosions in Hogsmeade, but I don't see the girl.' Narcissa tilts her head to the side and mockingly pretends to search for Granger behind him. 'Did she beat you? Again?'

She is not even making an effort to hide her amusement at his failure. Yes, he most definitely is going to enjoy hearing her scream, crawl and beg for mercy. He folds his arms over each other, not caring about her holding a wand for a moment, and he merely gazes at her, edging her on. She dares to continue. Isn't she supposed to be a Slytherin?

'But I suppose it was your usual arrogant, overbearing, stupid overestimation of your own skills that enabled her to escape you. Again,' she emphasises jeering.

His hand twitches, but he holds his temper in check. She is rather chatty at the moment and he can always torture her for her insolence later on. He walks to the window not taking his eyes of the woman for a moment and he smiles, intending to throw her off balance.

'Hermione may have gotten away at the moment, but she is severely injured. I'm afraid you botched up her escape, Narcissa. As is your usual M.O. of doing things,' he adds.

Voldemort tilts his head and watches her demeaning. With pleasure he notices the slight shift of discomfort in Narcissa's eyes. They all search for his approval, his acknowledgement of their skills. Even now, when she must know she is inches away from experiencing the most excruciating pain she has ever felt in her life, she is still seeking recognition. He snorts superior.

'It will not be long before I capture the girl again. I know where she is.'

'Really?' Narcissa says disbelieving. 'Then, why isn't she here, being chained up and all?'

Voldemort gives her a condescending glance. 'I have my reasons. None of which concern you.'

He is not going to allow this measly woman to die thinking she beat him. He can already see the doubt beginning to form. Just a little nudge that's all she needs.

'I owe you a debt of gratitude, Malfoy. I had no idea how to let Granger escape without her getting suspicious at her ability to do so. She is rather clever, that little Mudblood. So thank you for outing your wavering loyalties and assisting me in obtaining my objectives, all at the same time.'

His high-pitched laugh roars to the dining room. Now, the doubt is eminently present in the wretched woman's eyes. Wonderful.

'You're lying,' she whispers, desperate.

Trying to convince herself no doubt. 'Feel free to delude yourself,' he replies, smirking.

This really is enjoyable. It is such a nice change from his otherwise almost mechanical, boring routine. He wonders how long it will take to push her over the edge.

'So I'm afraid your little vengeance has gone astray,' he says wickedly, and he grins widely while leaning against the windowsill.

'No, no,' she mutters and she is shaking her head despairingly, denying the thought, that she somehow assisted him, to enter her mind.

'You must remember it, don't you?' Voldemort softly says. 'The way your son screamed and twitched on the floor, before he died. It didn't take long, did it? I tortured that Weasley boy for days before he cracked, but Draco never was much of a fighter, was he? A pathetic specimen, that son of yours. I suppose …'

'Avada Kedavra!' yells Narcissa.

But Voldemort is far too fast for her. He lashes his wand and diverts the curse away in a blink of an eye, before casting his own.

'Crucio!'

And while the woman is screaming on the floor, he watches the destruction of the wall he diverted the curse too. That is the second time today someone has cast the Killing Curse toward him. What are those godforsaken bitches thinking? That he is going to die? Before them? Ridiculous. The high pitch voltage of the screams is beginning to torture his eardrums. Really, doesn't that woman have some restraint? He isn't even making an effort.

'Silencio,' he lazily adds.

And it becomes heavenly silent, though she is still trashing and writhing on the floor. At least, he can hear himself think now. He savours the moment. It is when inspiration strikes. He has read about it! Those magical anomalies he encountered with Granger. He remembers reading something similar somewhere a long time ago. It's at the tip of his tongue, but he just can't reach it. Ah well, he can always go through his library when he is done here. The answer most certainly must be there, even if he is uncertain in which book it is written down. He will find it. He always does.

Voldemort looks down again. What to do with the old besom? She is already beginning to diminish in her movements. Perhaps the boy took after his mother, but he shakes the thought immediately. His father is equally weak and despicable.

'Accio wand,' he casually casts, before lifting the Cruciatus Curse.

No point in her escaping into insanity. He is no such fool as Bella, who never can control herself while performing the Cruciatus Curse. The corners of his mouth twitch upwards as he sees Malfoy glare at him, angry and frightened at the same time. She is still panting and perspiring from the experience. He snaps her wand in two and tosses it on the floor before her shivering body in order to humiliate her.

'Get up,' he spats.

She scrambles to her feet, while he stalks around her, like a predator monitoring its prey before striking. It's time to really make her pay. That curse, the one he planned to use on Granger and that killed Murdoch. He can check whether the man died due to his age, but he casts the thought aside after careful consideration. Maybe later, if age isn't the deciding factor then Narcissa will get off too easily. Too bad torturing Lucius before her eyes will probably be received with sheer joy and glee, so that delightful option skips away to safety.

Voldemort is no fool. He has seen the interactions between the two and the disdain Narcissa holds for her husband is so overwhelming it sips through every gesture she makes and every word she speaks. Still getting Lucius in here may provide him with some delicious entertainment. He turns and strides away to the door.

'Care for some dinner?'

He halts abruptly. The four words are spoken with much venom and hatred, but it is the victorious undertone that alarms him. It hadn't escaped his attention before that the table was completely set, but he assumed one of the House-elves mixed up the dates. Apparently, he was mistaken. Slowly, he turns around. Narcissa is standing beside the table; her hand is resting on the large, silver dish-cover and she is watching him with clear anticipation. He narrows his eyes. The air suddenly thick with tension, which seems to build up at an amazing speed, as Narcissa continues to speak in a calm manner.

'I hear roasted snake is considered quite a delicacy. However, I don't much care for the disgusting, extra ingredient in this one,' and she lifts the dish-cover steadily, revealing a very dead and thoroughly cooked Nagini.

He doesn't even notice the furious and despairingly scream that leaves his lips as he casts the Killing Curse on mere reflex alone and Narcissa plummets to the ground for the last time with a permanent, triumphant expression plastered on her face. She had resigned herself with her fate a long time ago.

'Granger,' Voldemort hisses through gritted teeth, while watching the destroyed Horcrux on the table. 'You'll better run far, far away from me, because once I get my hands on you, I will make you pay for this.'

And he swirls out of the dining room. The Amulet of Aine is now an even more pressing matter than before. He is mortal again. Thanks to Hermione Granger, he is mortal again. He knows his traitorous Death Eater did not possess the knowledge that Nagini was a Horcrux. Granger told her. The time for toying around with the blasted girl is over. He stalks into his library to find the text that he knows exist somewhere. The text that will explain his near misses and the strange extinguishing effect they encountered before. Once he finds it … Vengeance will be sweet.

Voldemort is going through his library vigorously. He has his food brought to him there and continues to skip through the leaves at amazing speed. He grabs another Dark Arts Volume from the shelf, but it almost immediately ends up on the large pile on the floor, when he skips through its leaves. That one isn't it either. He knows he will recognise the book once he lays eyes upon it, but so far he hasn't had a single clue as to its identity. He remembers vaguely the description is written down in a rather thick volume, somewhere around one-third into the book's contents. He can practically see the text at the bottom of the page. Unfortunately, nearly all his books are rather thick volumes, so this knowledge doesn't narrow the search down one bit.

The door opens and Lucius enters. 'My Lord, it's been called to my attention that the Oxford University is in uproar. What should I order the Aurors to do about it, Master?'

Another silly question, naturally. Something, his servants should be able to figure out on their own. He really doesn't have time to explain all these trivial things to Malfoy. He needs to solve these Granger issues. He needs the Amulet. He needs to be able to create a new Horcrux and become immortal again.

'Shove off, Malfoy,' he snarls, irritated, 'unless you don't want to remain living and breathing for some time to come any longer.'

He doesn't even lift his eyes to the imbecile once. And Lucius Malfoy hurries away.

'And clean up the mess in the dining room!' Voldemort shouts viciously at Lucius, while tossing another book over his shoulder to the floor. That one isn't it either, but he will find it. He will find it. And when he does, Granger will be sorry she was ever born.


	10. Chapter 10

**Spoilers:** All Harry Potter books, including Deathly Hallows.

 **Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Don't own Star Wars or the song text from Alanis Morrisette either.

 **Author's note:** Hermione's POV.

* * *

**The Bittersweet Taste of Victory**

_What I learned I rejected but I believe again_

_I will suffer the consequence of this inquisition_

_If I jump in this fountain, will I be forgiven?_

_We all had delusions in our head_

_We all had our minds made up for us_

_We had to believe in something_

_So we did._

Alanis Morrisette, Forgiven

**Chapter ten**

An incomprehensible murmur escapes my mouth. The noise slowly reaches my still groggy ears, but as I turn on the hard, concrete floor I scream and am thoroughly awake in a blink of an eye. I roll back immediately to relieve my broken arm of my own weight. Merlin, that was a bloody painful and crude awakening. I breathe out deeply, before taking a hold of my wand. I need to mend my bones first. So I cast the spell. Fortunately, healing broken bones is an easy task, unless your name is Lockheart, of course. And I lie on the ground with all my limbs intact and accounted for, a few moments later. I watch the plain, white ceiling thinking I really need to get up and moving, but the memory of fainting and crashing back to the floor is vivid and I am still slightly apprehensive as a result.

How long have I been out of it? It's still daylight as I can see through the huge window. So it couldn't have been too long, could it? I really need to move away from this very visible area. Slowly, I rise and turn around on all fours. I crawl toward to hall, knowing that if I turn around the corner, I will be out of the direct line of sight from the street next to my parents' house. I feel rather silly crawling around like a toddler, but I will feel even sillier if I get up on my feet only to pass out again. I make it to the hall and position myself against the wall on the corner. I sit there resting for a while, thinking about everything that happened to me and about what to do next.

Those things that happened in Hogsmeade were some rather strange magical anomalies. I mean, surely, Voldemort can miss once, but thrice? And I missed at point blank range, while he just stood there in deep thought! That was also weird. And then, there were the spells that collided and extinguished themselves. I sigh. Damn. I really need to do some research, because I am willing to bet my life on it that Voldemort will be doing so. I'm certain he didn't have the answers back there and then. He seemed equally astonished as I was.

And I try remembering everything Yoda learnt me about the Force of Nature, but I don't recall anything that can serve as an explanation to the events that transpired. It's all Magic is all around us, yack, yack, yaketyyak, yack. And I roll my eyes to the ceiling. Not helpful at all. I need to go to the library and do some reading. I smirk as I picture myself walking into the Hogwarts' library to check out a few books.

'I just need to borrow these books so I can find out why my Killing Curse missed the Dark Lord. You don't mind, do you Lucius?'

' _No, of course not, go right ahead, Miss Granger. Can I be of assistance? And do feel free to leave when you're done.'_

Yeah, that's likely to happen. The problem is I know exactly which book I am going to need, Merlin's Laws on Magic. The most dreadful and boring book I ever had the misfortune of reading. I clearly remember hearing of its existence. I was really exited, having read all the adventures of King Arthur as a little child, and then, to hear it was real and Merlin himself wrote a book about his life. I just had to read it. Big, big mistake.

It is a thick and heavy volume, containing more than a thousand pages. All written to boost the glory and greatness of the author himself. His style is utterly pompous, long-winded and condescending. And not a page can pass by without him reminding the reader how sublimely important, brilliant and magnificent he is, and how very honoured you should feel about having the privilege of holding such an important document in your hands. Not, of course, that he thought the reader would have the intelligence to have even the slightest clue as to what he meant, but just too merely look at such a masterpiece is something to be cherished, according to Mr. I-Am-The-Greatest-Sorcerer-Of-All-Time.

'Pfffttt…'

I smile as I recall Ron's reaction on seeing the book. 'Are all the decent books taken from the library?' he said dumbfounded.

And then, there were Fred and George, who snatched the book away from me and started to recite from it mockingly, mimicking a high-and-mighty posture worthy of Merlin.

I did read the book from cover to cover, but I was glad to have finished it and I never lent it again. I'm regretting that now. Because even though the man may have been an arrogant You-Know-What, in between the annoying lines of self-glorification, he wrote down the very concepts of magical laws that still apply today. And I know he wrote something down on continuous misfires and spells that extinguish upon impact. It was written down about one-third into the book and I can almost read the text that was at the bottom of the page; almost. Merlin wrote down an explanation for the occurrence and I recall he wrote lengthy about countering it. It's at the tip of my tongue. I've read it. Arggh!

I hit my head hard against the wall behind me. I can't recall it. Why, why, why did I only take those Horcrux books with me? I should have packed the entire library upon leaving the school, because what's even worse, as the book being out of my reach, is its availability to Voldemort. It's in the Hogwarts library and if my schooldays are any indication than that book will be firmly gathering dust on the shelf. Not a single soul borrowed that book for long. Mostly first years made the mistake and brought it back after a couple of days without having read more than the first page of it. I remember being halfway through it, when Ron noticed I was still reading it and had an eye-popping experience.

Maybe Voldemort hasn't read it. I close my eyes and hit my head against the wall for a second time. Who am I kidding? Of course Mr Tom 'I-Am-The-Biggest-Nerd-Of-Them-All' Riddle has read it. Still, like I said before, it's not exactly a book you reread and if he read it during his Hogwarts days, which was like decades ago, then he may not recall that Merlin wrote this down. And let's face it; he is bound to check out the Dark Arts Volumes first. I hit the back of my head against the wall again. If, if, if … I am so screwed.

Why can't I remember what was on those bloody pages? I have all this useless information floating through my head. Did you know that the skin of a polar bear is black and that its fur is not white, but transparent? And that every year more people get killed by a donkey than from plane crashes; it's illegal to die in the Houses of Parliament; Leonardo Da Vinci invented scissors; a snail can sleep for three years; and spells extinguish upon impact because... ?

Oh well, it was worth a try. I need to get my hands on that book. Oxford University!

Excited, I jump to my feet and the world starts spinning again. I place my hands against the wall and wait for the dizziness to subside. I must have lost a lot of blood, if I get this kind of a response from simply standing up. Too bad, I don't have access to a Blood-Replenishing Potion.

Anyway, Oxford University, the address of the safe 'house' Remus Lupin handed me. He gave Harry, Ron and me each a different address where we could hide in the event one of the three of us was captured. And he gave me the location of the place where he and Moody moved the dangerous items too that were originally stationed in 12 Grimmauld Place. The entire Black Family Library was taken there as well. The Order deemed it preferable if the Death Eaters did not get there hands on it. And the Blacks might have had such a valuable and ancient book as Merlin's in their possession. I have to check. It is my best option.

Though, it is also a rather dangerous one. I can't go about Transfiguring myself anymore. Healer Nightingale warned me not to do that any time soon, unless I desire to die a thousand deaths. So I'll have to go as me. And the place is to be found past the main entrance; go up the stairs; take the third corridor on my right; and tap three times with my wand on Einstein's statue, casting the word 'relativity'. It will unlock the door to the secret chamber, where hopefully the book is at. Risky.

But I have no choice and it is also risky to remain here, in my parents' house. Someone is bound to find me if I stay. It's too obvious, too high profile. It's probably the reason why no one has checked this place either. They most likely think I won't be stupid enough to go here. Well, you know what guys? I was, but now I am leaving. I keep my wand at the ready.

'Oxford University, past the main entrance, up the stairs, third corridor on the right on the first floor, before the statue of Albert Einstein,' I think.

'Crack.'

And I Apparate on that exact location. I swivel my head around, but the corridor is empty. Thank Merlin.

I quickly tap with my wand on Einstein's nose three times and whisper: 'relativity.'

A soft click sounds through the corridor and the bust moves forward and to the side. I step inside the secret chamber and the entrance closes behind me automatically. I made it! The secret room is a large, spacious place, but the walls are covered with stuff. Boxes and boxes are placed in a seemingly random manner. It all looks more like a disorganised storage facility than a safe haven for a bunch of refugees. I look at the mess and raise my wand.

'Accio Merlin's Laws on Magic!' I cast.

A rumbling noise comes from one of the boxes, until a book bursts through the cardboard material and lands in my hands. I love the Blacks. I really, really do. Right now, I can even hug Sirius's mom. At least, Voldemort won't be the only one with the information. I pull one of the chairs out of the corner and sit down with the book in my lap. I flip through the leaves, until I've reached the desired page and I start reading vigorously. I read and read; and the further I get, the more blood gets drained from my face. A cold feeling makes its way through my veins as I read Merlin's obnoxious comments. And finally, I have reached the end; I close my eyes; lean back in the chair, and rest my hands on the pages. No fucking way!

No, no, no, no, no. And I shake my head to emphasise my clear disagreement with Merlin's assessments. There must be a mistake. Merlin's wrong. He has to be. This can not be right. This isn't right. There are so many things not right about this; I don't even know where to begin. There must be another explanation. This is not happening, impossible, out of the question, never ever in a million years…

Yoda! He must have known this. And I groan as I remember our last discussion.

' _You have time, Hermione. You need the time, you are not ready.'_

' _Hermione, you've reached results in the last nine years that were only surpassed by one other person before. You have a gift. You're the one. Do not make the same mistake he did by leaving prematurely. You can not go after Lord Voldemort in your current condition. Remember what happened a week ago.'_

' _You need to finish your lessons. Do not make this mistake, I beg of you.'_

' _You will not be coming back, not as you are now,' Yoda said softly. 'You will become him. You will fall and then all hope will have left this world. You will be his for eternity. Please stay and finish your teachings.'_

Yoda must have known. He should have told me. Why didn't he warn me about this? I might have stayed had I known this wonderful surprise was a factor. Why didn't he say anything? I rub my hands through my hair in clear frustration. That little, sneaky, conniving, rotten, evil, yeah evil, devious, plotting, manipulative, sorry arse of a monk. If I get out of this country before Voldemort finds me, I swear I will tear down that place, until there isn't a single stone left standing on top of another.

I look at my lap. The dreaded book is mocking my presence. Blasted Merlin, why did he have to write everything down? He could have kept this bit to himself, but nooo, he had to show everybody how clever he was. Well, if he was so damn clever why didn't he…

There must be another explanation! Maybe I've misread. Or I've misinterpreted something. I grab the book, flip the pages backwards and reread the entire section. Hoping beyond hope, there is something there that I missed the first time around. But when I'm done reading it for the second time, I sigh in clear resignation. This is the worst day of my life. This has to be a dream; a nightmare. This possibly can't be a reality. In a few moments, Mrs Weasley will be knocking on Ginny's bedroom door and tell us breakfast is ready. I close my eyes and wait for the knocking sounds to arrive. But nothing but silence is tormenting my ears. I open my eyes again and I am still greeted by the same walls inside the secret chamber at Oxford.

I am so doomed. I have no illusions of grandeur concerning my own capabilities. Voldemort is going to do a little happy dance when he reads or remembers that text. I need to get out of this country, now. It may not even help, but it's my only chance. I have to find a way to sneak past those International Anti-Apparation Wards.

Fortunately, the Amulet of Aine is safe, safer than me. I can't lead him there. So the man will remain very mortal. Eventually, this will all end. A small comfort, I know, but since it is my only one, I cling to it.

'BANG!'

A loud explosion roars through the building I am in, and the walls tremble upon its force. I jump to my feet. Only to be remembered that I need to move with caution, since that dizzy feeling is overtaking me again.

'I don't have time for this,' I say forcefully to myself. 'Get a grip and stop mocking about.'

Another explosion and dust falls from the ceiling as the building shakes again. The world stops spinning and I move to the exit. Worried, I look around the room. These are the items the Order deemed imperative to keep out of the Dark Lord's grasp. I look at the book in my hands. I can't take it with me. If I am caught the information will be his immediately. I don't know how long it will take him to retrieve the book from the Hogwarts library, but I rather not assist in the matter.

'BANG!'

I need to go. I toss the book on the floor, grab the doorknob and look at the place with regret in my eyes. This would have been a fine place to hide for a while. Alas, those bloody muggle-bashing idiots have decided today is a great day to attack a university. I raise my wand at the room. I feel a lot of shame for what I am about to do. The Black Library contains loads and loads of valuable and rare books, but the Order was explicit in their desire to keep these things from him.

'The Order ceased to exist ages ago,' a daunting voice in the back of my head says. 'You can't destroy all this knowledge simply for the off change Voldemort will find it.'

Screams are coming for the corridor the chamber is adjacent too. I roll my wand through my hand, contemplating on the dilemma at hand.

'It's a sin to burn books; a crime. I really shouldn't,' I think, biting my lip. 'There may be a unique copy between them. How much does it matter if he finds this as well? The knowledge will be lost forever, if I burn it all. I can't. I just can't burn a book; let alone more than one.'

And I lower my wand, before opening the hidden door to find out what the entire ruckus is about. It turns out to be one of those 'let's kill a muggle because he is smarter than me' days. But they aren't counting on my presence, and after reading what I've just read, I take great comfort in knowing that at least this time around I will win. And I hex witch after witch, wizard after wizard into oblivion. I'm kind of enjoying myself at the ease in which these imbeciles go down. Perhaps, this lesson will make them think twice the next time they are considering to torture innocent people. It's when I hear the multiple cracks of the Ministerial Teams arriving that I find it prudent to leave the scene and I Disapparate out of there.

That night I sleep in the woods, underneath a blanket of twinkling stars and a bright almost full moon. I thank the weather gods for this beautiful warm summer night as I fall asleep. The next morning I set off for London. I need to see if I can find a way past those wards. The moment Lord Voldemort obtains the information from Merlin's book I am screwed. So I need to take some risks in order to, maybe, escape this country. It will be a lot harder for him to find me, if he has to do a global search. I point my wand at myself, concentrate and try hard to forget the Healer's warnings when I Transfigure my appearance again.

My breath of relieve fills the air, when I don't crash down to the ground in agony, and all that changes are my features. Upon arriving at the Ministry I see I shouldn't have bothered coming here at all. There is no way out. The protection surrounding the Nation Wide Wards is tremendous. I can't possibly get close enough to cause enough damage for them to break. And if there is a weak spot somewhere in those wards, they sure as hell aren't advertising with it. I'm really stuck here. Maybe now is a good time to learn how to swim, because flying really is out of the question.

An empty cottage at the British coastline enables me to sleep in a bed once more and I fall asleep almost instantaneously. The sunlight shines brightly in my face when I wake the next morning. I feel extremely rested for a change as I yawn and stretch my limbs to wake properly. I shriek when I hear the rustle of feathers. A brown speckled owl is sitting on the ground beside my bed. No, the owl is sitting on a parcel on the ground beside my bed. Puzzled and slightly bemused I look at the owl who is now hooting at me impatiently. How did the bird get inside? I didn't leave any of the windows open.

Another restless hoot from the owl.

'Yes, I see you. Just a minute, I'll get you something to eat,' I tell the owl.

I don't exactly carry owl-treats on me these days. So I check the room. 'Stupify!'

The stunner hits the mouse, who will become the owl's breakfast this morning. I pick up the mouse on its tail by my thumb and index finger; and I walk toward the now very excitedly hooting, feather-rustling and hopping owl. The owl practically snatches the mouse out of my hand and starts eating eagerly, leaving me to take the package from the ground myself.

'Who could be sending me a package?' I think and I watch the package suspiciously.

I wave my wand through the air and check the parcel for curses and other unhealthy additions, but it is clean. So I pick up the neatly wrapped package. It's pretty heavy. I check it back and forth, but there is no note attached to it. I unwrap the brown paper and an off-white envelope, with my name written down in a neat and elegant handwriting, is lying on top of a very familiar book. It feels like someone is twisting my insides into a tight knot as I look at Merlin's Laws on Magic that is resting calmly in between the paper. He found the book. I sigh. Lord Voldemort has found the book. I'm so dead now.

I don't remember how long I sat there; silently, unmoving. Eventually, I look at the envelope. I dread opening it, but I know sitting here won't make this situation disappear. I pick up the envelope and notice that my hands are not very steadfast. I have been in rotten situations before, but I've never been this afraid in my life. I open the envelope and unfold the letter.

_Dear Hermione,_

I can just see the glee on his features, when he wrote down the beginning of this letter in such an informal manner.

_I trust you recognise the book before you. However pompous and boring Merlin wrote down his life's work, I sincerely doubt you have not read it from cover to cover before. I daresay, it contains some rather interesting information, wouldn't you agree? If you don't know what I am talking about, then I recommend (re-?)reading page 308 through 319. Those pages will clear u_ _p any misunderstandings you may have, but somehow I feel this is not news to you._

_So I will get to the point. You have until ten o'clock tonight to appear before me. I will leave the wards around Hogsmeade down for the entire day, so you can Apparate directly into the town without having to worry about using an Apparation Portal. I've given strict orders to my servants not to harm you,_ _so I will appreciate it if you will restrain yourself from hexing them. If you are not here on time, you will leave me with no other choice, but to go out and retrieve you myself. You do not want that, Hermione. Trust me. I will not be pleased if you waste my time. Until we meet again tonight._

_With kind regards,_

_Lord Voldemort_

I feel like I can't breathe. I am unable to breathe. I'm not getting any air in at all. You need oxygen to stay alive. I run outside to get some fresh air and I stand on the beach with my hands on my knees desperately searching for some relieve. It's when I realise I am freaking out and I try to control myself.

'Come on, Hermione, there is nothing wrong with your respiratory system. Just inhale and exhale, there is nothing more to it. Inhale and exhale, that's it,' I say to myself.

Oh, I'm definitely doomed now.

When I have calmed down, I watch the North Sea before me. Wave after wave is striking the coast. It's a beautiful, warm and sunny day in July, but that does not relieve me of my burden and fear. The water is inviting me over, but I can't swim past those wards, because I never learnt how. A wave strikes my feet and I walk a short distance into the water. It's when I am in knee-deep water that I realise I can't swim. So if I walk on, then I'll drown and this will all be over. I stand there while the waves swirl around me, but I can't seem to take a single step forward. My mind says it is the most sensible thing to do. I know it will be over quick. Drowning is said to be a relatively soft death, but it scares the shit out of me. I really don't want to die just yet. I'm only twenty-eight.

I turn around and wade back toward the beach. It's pointless anyway. Chances are I'll only make it halfway through drowning, before Voldemort appears and I end up with the nasty experience without the actual benefit of dying. He has read the text after all, so most likely he is already monitoring my movements. I stare at the cottage at the edge of the beach as I cast a charm to dry my clothes and shoes. It really is a beautiful day. And I flash my wand and Apparate to Hogsmeade. I may as well get this over and done with.

As I walk the path toward Hogwarts again, I remember the happier times I had walking this road. It feels more like I'm walking to the gallows right about now. I see the sideway glances several people, who pass me by, throw in my direction and I hear them muttering anxiously: 'Isn't that Hermione Granger?'

But I ignore the stares, the shocked expressions and the whispering. They really aren't the people I'm concerned about and a knot forms around my stomach. The Hogwarts Castle has just gotten into view. It's almost one o'clock; lunch break. The students are all lingering on the grassy fields outside, bathing in the sunlight for what I supposedly think is their last day of school, before the summer holiday starts. They all look at me with different expressions on their faces and what was previously a mere soft whisper of my name is now a lot more vocal.

Suddenly, a little boy tugs at my robe. I look down and he whispers 'good luck', before hurrying away. I'm kind of shocked for the recklessness the tiny eleven year old boy is displaying, but then I remember three others, who jumped through a trapdoor past a three headed dog, straight into a bush of Devil's Snare. And I acknowledge that resistance can be found in the smallest of men. Several other students wish me well underneath their breath as I cross the field. I don't respond, not wishing to get them harmed. But their daring does lighten me up considerably and a new found courage enters my heart. I may be walking to my own doom here, but I will do whatever I can to not make it easy on him. If he thinks he has already won, then I have news for him.

I walk up the flight of steps to the front entrance of the castle when the pointed face of Lucius Malfoy comes into view. His cold, grey eyes are watching me condescendingly, but I'm not even remotely concerned with his demeanour. He can look down on me all he wants. I never cared what his kind thinks of me and I never will; arrogant toerag. However, he blocks my path by placing that sissy cane of his into the door frame. Quickly, I draw my wand and press it into his throat.

'Out of my way, Malfoy,' I hiss quietly.

'Don't think for a moment, Mudblood,' he spats, 'that I want to be close to the likes of you, but you will not be allowed unlimited access to this castle.'

'Fine by me,' I say and I turn around and start descending the steps. 'Feel free to inform the Dark Lord on my behalf that you were responsible for my departure.'

Malfoy runs down the steps and halts in front of me, blocking my path in the other direction. So I quirk an eyebrow.

'Try to make up your mind, Lucius,' I say mocking. 'Do tell, does this sudden change of heart have anything to do with you wetting your pants upon realising you will have to tell Lord Voldemort that I left because of you?'

'You will follow me to the Dark Lord's chambers,' he snarls. 'And don't think for one moment, you are welcome here.'

'Then why don't you share that sentiment with your boss? I'm sure he is most anxious to hear how _you_ feel about matters,' I say in the most condescending and sarcastic tone I can muster.

His hand twitches and I see how the hilt of his cane parts from its holster, but he stops drawing his wand halfway through. Too bad, I wouldn't have minded the opportunity to hex his pureblood arse, but he stalks back into the castle without another word and I follow him in with a smirk plastered all over my face. If Lucius only knew that his stupid behaviour merely helped me regain my courage, he probably wouldn't have said a word to me. But as we exchanged insults, the tight knot disappeared from my stomach, and I feel a lot lighter as we ascend the staircases to the Headmaster's Office. We step through the painting and walk to the second door on the right. Lucius knocks and a familiar voice tells him to enter. Lucius strides in before me and all I think, is that proper manners must have skipped this pureblood's upraising.

I look around curiously after I enter the study chamber annex library. The walls are completely covered with books and there is a seating arrangement surrounding the hearth. A large desk is stationed in front of the window that Voldemort is currently looking out of. His magic is already surrounding me, working its way into my very being. No doubt he is trying to intimidate and frighten me. Unfortunately, it is working, because that blasted knot returns to my stomach and I feel my chest constricting. I'm having trouble breathing again.

'My Lord, the girl has arrived.'

'Leave us,' Voldemort orders without turning around.

Lucius hurries away. Right now, I feel like running away for as long and fast as I can, but I merely stand there, like a deer caught in the headlights of a moving car. It is silent after the door closes with a soft thud, uncomfortably silent. And I feel Voldemort's presence around me, though he is still standing there at the window. A heavy gulf restricts me and I panic when I realise I can't move a muscle. My heart is pounding painfully in my chest, and now I know I'm not imagining my breathing problems, as I did before in the cottage. I really can't breathe.

Slowly, Voldemort turns around and looks at my apprehensive state with a small smile on his face. I want to say something, but I can't. He lazily glides toward me, until he is in front of me. He is taking his time in checking my utterly terrified appearance with those penetrating crimson eyes of his. His head tilts to the side and I see his amusement at my discomfort and pain. He needs to let go now. I can't possibly take this anymore, but he starts circling me in an ever so dilatory manner. He is doing it on purpose; I can see it in his eyes. He is revelling in my despair, my unease for being out of control. I'm about to lose consciousness do to my inability to breathe, when he halts right beside me and places his hand on my ribcage. I gasp violently, when my lungs fill up with air, which is not done out of their own volition. Another hand is placed at the back of my skull and I can feel the smirk when his breath touches my cheek.

'Welcome back, Hermione.'


	11. Chapter 11

**Spoilers:** All Harry Potter books, including Deathly Hallows.

 **Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Don't own Star Wars and the song text from the Stones either, duh.

 **Author's note:** Voldemort's POV.

* * *

**The Bittersweet Taste of Victory**

_Please allow me to introduce myself  
I'm a man of wealth and taste  
I've been around for a long, long year  
Stole many a man's soul and faith_

_Pleased to meet you  
Hope you guess my name  
But what's puzzling you  
Is the nature of my game_

_So if you meet me  
Have some courtesy  
Have some sympathy, and some taste  
Use all your well - learned politeness  
Or I'll lay your soul to waste, um yeah_

_Pleased to meet you  
Hope you guessed my name, um yeah  
But what's confusing you  
Is the nature of my game, um mean it, get down_

The Rolling Stones, Sympathy for the devil.

**Chapter eleven**

Lord Voldemort sighs as he pulls the last book of the shelf from his personal library. He has a strong inkling, this one isn't it either. He takes one glance over its pages and knows he is right. With an angry growl he throws it away and Dark Arts Revisited lands unceremoniously on the now immense pile on the floor. Usually, he has great respect for books and treats them with more care then he ever bestowed upon another human being, but today he feels like incinerating them all for failing to provide him with the proper information. This is ridiculous. He has never, not been able to recollect something. He is certain he read about the phenomenon, absolutely positive. Why can't he remember it? He is Lord Voldemort, he must remember it. He just must. And he kicks the pile out of sheer frustration. Never, ever has he been disappointed by books before, but, apparently, there is a first for everything.

He imagines reading the book again. It is one-third into the book at the bottom half of the right page. He can almost see it. It is right there, but the letters remain blurred and he is unable to decipher them. Perhaps, if he concentrates on other parameters, he can recall which book contains the knowledge, or better yet, remember what is on its pages. He envisions holding the book in his hand. He can almost feel it there, touching his skin, and he shifts his focus on his surroundings. He is in the Hogwarts library in his favourite secluded corner. So he read it, while he was still in school. Unfortunately, he read almost every book there and then, so that doesn't narrow down his search. He tries to imagine closing the book in his hands and looking at the cover, but upon closing it, the blasted book becomes a blur again. Fine, the Hogwarts library it is.

Fortunately, the school year is coming to an end and there are only a few of those imps still present in the library. Upon noticing him, they, however, have the good sense to abandon the area and leave him be. He takes a breath and sniffs. The familiar smell of loads and loads of old and new books reaches his sinuses. This has always been his favourite place to be at Hogwarts and a broad smile appears on his face. He wants to simply take a book he has not read yet and go to his favourite corner to enjoy a moment of peace and tranquillity while reading new ideas and concepts. It's when he realises, he is getting sentimental. And annoyed with himself, he paces toward the former Restricted Section. He has information to find, questions that require answering. He needs not waste his time with those weak feelings and emotions. They are truly unworthy and unbecoming of him.

And so he stands in front of the shelf, but he does not pull one of the books out. He looks at the books and remembers how long it took him before he was able to secretly gain access to this part of the library. Nowadays it is as accessible as the rest of the library. He immediately had the locks removed and made sure everyone could read everything, when he gained power. He always felt it was an abomination to keep knowledge away from those who graved it. But as he stands in this section filled with dangerous books, he remembers his visual from a few moments ago. He saw himself reading the book in the library at a very young age. He couldn't have been more than eleven. That was before he was able to get in here. So the book must be elsewhere. He finds it hard to believe. He read it when he was that young? Lord Voldemort remembers the kind of books he read at that age. Surely, none of them could have contained the information on something so rare and important? But still it had…

He walks to his favourite corner and stands there. Here is where he read it. A book that revealed magical information the likes of which he has not seen or heard off before in his entire lifetime. And he read it at age eleven? What book could he possibly have been allowed to read by those imbeciles that ran this school that…

A swirl of cloak leaves a rapid shadow behind, when Voldemort strides to the history session. Really, of all the wretched books in the world he ever had the misfortune to read. His eyes dart the shelves for the volume. It will be here, no doubt. No one will have borrowed it. It's when he sees the dark, black spine of the book and the gold trimmed letters with the name and title, Merlin's Laws on Magic. Sweet Salazar, he so vowed to never, ever read that blasted man's writings ever again. Disgruntled, he pulls the book from the shelf and he knows it is the one. He is going to have to reread that atrocity of a text. This definitely is the worst day of his life.

Fortuitously, he has an indication as to where the answers are written down, so if he is lucky, he won't have to reread the entire book. He opens the book and strolls back to sit down. Subconsciously, he ends up in his favourite corner on the ground of the library, but he does not realise it. He is skipping the pages vigorously. There it is. For a brief moment, his eyes fall on the chapter title at the top of the page. It brings about a sickening and nauseating feeling, and he disregards it immediately. Merlin was an utter sentimental fool at times.

So he reads the text that describes the events he encountered with Granger. Merlin appeared to have had similar issues with Viviane. When he is done reading; he shakes his head. No way. No, no, no, no. This isn't right. There is no way that Mudblood can possibly be his magical counterpart. He skips back and reads the stupid text again. Merlin is just plain mistaken. He is certain of that. There must be another explanation. He will be damned if that woman is going to get a hold over him. So he reads it again, and again, and again. Until he finally shuts the book with an angry growl.

Yoda! The blasted monk knows! He must have recognised the magic when Granger arrived on their doorsteps. Of all the places in the world she had to end up there. He feels lucky they are always so tiresomely dilatory in teaching their ways to another. She is nowhere near ready, yet. Her focus and concentration are wavering; too easily broken. He scowls when certain aspects of his conversation with Yoda come back to mind. The obnoxious Knight had been baiting him ever step of the way that day.

' _Miss Granger's capabilities did require me to get personally involved … an exception was made for an exceptional woman ... I am sure you will agree with me that the girl is quite extra-ordinary.'_

Always the usual beating around the bush and not say what you truly mean. The man had been on a little fishing trip to check if he knew already. Well, the monk should have prepared the girl better. It is obvious to Voldemort that Granger had been just as unaware to any of this as he had been. She seemed equally astonished when their spells collided and extinguished. If Yoda would have informed her beforehand, she could have done some serious damage to him, but not anymore, not now.

Now, he knows. And he will be ready to counter any attack on his magic. But how well will Granger fare? A smirk crosses his features as he remembers her inability to block the Imperius Curse. Of course, he lost control of it, because he had been unknowing to them being magically compatible. However, as things are, he can take pre-emptive arrangements with his curses. Use her own magic against her. A soft snicker leaves his mouth. It will be a fitting punishment for her insolence in defying him all these years. And he can certainly make her pay for the destruction of his Horcruxes.

Speaking of Horcruxes, there is no way she can hide the whereabouts of the Amulet from him anymore. With this information he'll breakthrough her mental barrier in a heartbeat. So that is what Yoda meant when he spoke off Granger's Occlumency being easily shattered by him. It's all beginning to make sense now.

But there are also other matters to consider. As long as he controls the girl, his powers will multiply. Compatible magic tends to grow and build upon another, and according to Merlin his powers went through the roof when he imprisoned Viviane. However, somewhere down the line Merlin made an error; a blunder of magnificent proportions. Unfortunately, no one knows what it had been. Merlin, naturally, had not written down the aspects and circumstances of his death. All that is common knowledge is that he died by the hand of Viviane. No one knows how she had done it. She had taken the information with her to the grave and Merlin's death remains a mystery onto today. Voldemort realises this must have been what the monk had been referring too.

' _It is you who is at her mercy, Tom. But I understand that you do not have the capabilities to realise that.'_

He stares into thin air. This, he has to prevent. Right now, he can easily overpower Granger. He needs to find her and make her see reason. If she will, she can become his most valuable asset; if she won't, he will kill her. He will not allow himself to become a victim of this Mudblood. He is Lord Voldemort and he will succeed. Besides, Merlin was a fool, who fell in love with, and by doing so dropped his guard around, Viviane. He will not make that same mistake and be drawn to feel something so weak and despicable. It probably was the reason the romantic sucker died to begin with.

'Master?' says the meek voice of Lucius Malfoy.

Voldemort looks up, irritated. 'What do you want this time, Lucius?'

'I received news from the Auror Teams that were dispatched to the uproar at the Oxford University yesterday,' says Lucius feeble.

Voldemort notices that his eyes are darting left and right, trying hard not to meet his. And the pureblood obviously doesn't know how to deal with his lordship sitting on the ground with a book in his lap, because his otherwise pale complexion has turned incredibly red. He looks thoroughly uncomfortable with standing there, taking a physically higher posture than his Master. Like he, Lord Voldemort, can't curse him from a seated position. Voldemort snorts.

'Why is a disturbance at a muggle site any of my concern, Malfoy? Surely, it has been dealt with accordingly.'

'Well… the Aurors found several injured muggles and a huge amount of injured witches and wizards at the scene,' explains Lucius frightful.

'So a bunch of fools got their behinds kicked by filth. I still don't see why you are wasting my time with this Lucius. I already told you yesterday not to bother me with measly trivialities,' Voldemort says quietly.

His tone is enough to make Malfoy shiver for a moment and the idiot continues to waste his time stuttering something incomprehensible.

'Theaunhergrantehere,' mutters Lucius.

Voldemort raises his eyebrows. 'Very well spoken, Lucius,' he sarcastically states, 'come back once you've mastered the English language again.'

And he returns his attention to the book in his lap. It's when Lucius dares to open his mouth.

'The Aurors said Hermione Granger was there.'

Voldemort's head snaps upward and his wand is in his hand before Malfoy even has the opportunity to witness the movement. Lucius, who bowed down to his Master upon bringing him this bit of delightful news, gets hit with the Cruciatus Curse, despite his submissive posture and he plummets to the ground, screaming and twisting. After a while, Voldemort lifts the curse. He has gotten back on his feet and is now towering over his sobbing servant.

'Granger was there?' he asks menacingly. 'How come I receive this information a day after events transpired, Lucius? Care to explain that to me?'

'I didn't know, my Lord. The Aurors failed to inform me the girl was there. I only…'

'You failed to stay informed?' Voldemort says angry. 'Crucio!'

Malfoy's screams flare through the library and this time Voldemort is not lifting the curse quickly. He rather enjoys watching the man wriggle and shake on the floor.

'What was she doing there?' he finally asks the shivering, crying and begging Malfoy. 'Answer me, Lucius! Or do you prefer another lesson?'

'No, no, Master, please. The Aurors said the Mudblood hexed the witches and wizards, who attacked the muggle students,' Lucius rambles quickly. 'They think she somehow was in the neighbourhood and intervened.'

'Bunch of morons … Granger wouldn't be so foolish to go near a high profile place without a solid reason. You will go there yourself, Lucius, and sweep the area. Take all the help with you that you need, but find out what she was doing there,' orders Voldemort, before stalking out of the library with Merlin's book tucked underneath his armpit.

Crucio-ing Lucius has given him a rather delicious and shrewd idea on how to get Granger to return to his care on her own behalf. He won't even have to go looking for her, if he plays his cards right. The girl will come to him. A high pitched laugh still echoes through the Hogwarts corridors, while Lord Voldemort returns to his quarters, utterly pleased with the way events have turned out.

He enters his messy study chamber, but a lazy flick of his wrist clears up the disarray the room is in, and the books that are scattered on the floor, return to their rightful place on the shelves alongside the walls. Voldemort sits down behind his desk, while placing Merlin's book on the side of it. A vile smile appears, when he conjures a new bottle of ink before him. A few lazy waves with his wand above the bottle, and the ink gets stained with his magic. That'll do it. Not a single detection charm will see this as a curse or a danger, but it most certainly is. At least for Granger it is, since she is susceptible to his magic. She will lose the moment she opens the envelope and reads the letter. And the beauty of it is, she won't even know it, before it is too late.

What to write? It's when he sees the book lying beside the parchment and he snickers loudly. That certainly is an exciting idea. Not that he thinks she hasn't read the text, yet. The bookworm she is will have undoubtedly read this 'masterpiece of literature'. But she may have the same problems as he had with recollecting the precise text. Also access to this book will be problematic at best for her. So he decides on sending the book along with the letter. That way he will be certain she understands the predicament she is in. She really doesn't have a choice here.

If she won't respond to his ultimatum he will be able to find her due to his magic on the letter. After all, the magic will be absorbed by hers, according to Merlin's theory. It will be relatively easy for him to locate her, once his magic is a part of her. And it will be prudent to send a little lesson along with it; to make her aware she can't escape him. A bit of panic will do and he adds that quality to his magic. There, some issues with being able to breathe, and she will beg for his forgiveness. He picks up the quill and starts writing. When he is finally done, he carefully wraps the book and the letter inside a simple brown, none identifiable paper. And he hands it to the brown speckled owl, he summoned.

'Make certain Hermione Jean Granger gets this package first thing tomorrow morning,' he tells the owl.

An affirmative hoot is the owl's response and he watches when it flies away across the Hogwarts' lake. Now, all he can do is: wait and relax. He has given the girl until ten o'clock tomorrow evening to return and she better be here, if she knows what is good for her. He hates having to run after morons who don't know when they have lost. What would she have been doing at that muggle university? Strange… but he will know all, when she returns to submit herself to his mercy. He is already looking forward to that, while he grabs a bite to eat and entertains himself by tormenting a few House-elves.

It is noon the next day, when he sees her walking across the grounds of Hogwarts. It is most accommodating and kind of her not to keep him waiting. Lord Voldemort will consider this when he lays judgement upon her. He narrows his eyes when a small boy tugs on her robes. What does that midget think he is doing? But the little and, no doubt, whiny creature runs away from Granger quickly. Hmmm… well… he supposes it is of no consequence what ants think. You can always squash them when they become too big a nuisance.

Voldemort is just beginning to wonder what the delay is when he, finally, hears the knock on the door. He is still standing in front of the window, though he is no longer interested in the view.

'Enter,' he orders.

He can sense her entering, more clearly then before. He knows what to look for now. Voldemort closes his eyes and concentrates on surrounding her with his magic. She will pay dearly for her crimes. Malfoy interrupts his thought process by opening his useless mouth once more.

'My Lord, the girl has arrived.'

Really, the man is always stating the obvious.

'Leave us,' Voldemort orders without turning around.

He hears how Lucius hurries away from the scene, but his focus is on Granger. Time to take over control. His magic expands with the speed of light and engulfs her. He shuts down all muscular mobility, including her respiratory system. She will have to learn quickly that he is her Master and that she needs to obey his every command or feel the consequences. Her life is now for him to decide upon. He truly is going to enjoy this. He already begins to feel her panic.

Slowly, Voldemort turns around and looks at Hermione's apprehensive state with a small smile on his face. He lazily glides toward her, until he is in front of the girl, taking his time in checking her utterly terrified appearance with his penetrating crimson eyes. He tilts his head to the side, relishing in her discomfort and pain. He can tell she wants to speak, but he is not allowing it. Her eyes widen and he decides to show her _he_ has all the time in the world.

Lord Voldemort casually circles her, tasting her despair. She is about to pass out. That won't do. She will not be permitted to have peace and quietness by slipping away into an unconscious state of being. He stands beside her and places his hand on her ribcage, making the magic flow through his hand in order to force her to take a breath. A loud gasp is his reward and he places his other hand at the back of her neck, enjoying every single second of the power he now yields over this insolent, little witch.

'Welcome back, Hermione,' he whispers against her cheek.

He rubs her neck. Their contact is empowering him beyond his wildest dreams. 'Interesting, don't you agree, my dear?'

But she doesn't respond; she can't. He snickers. 'Oh, sorry, I forgot,' he lies.

He releases his hold over her physical being and allows her to control her own body again. An involuntary shiver flows through her body and her breaths come out in a jerky, hampering motion. He holds her quietly, until she has calmed down.

'Interesting experience, this sharing of magical powers,' he repeats.

'Sharing?' Granger responds snorting. 'Well, why don't you try that, _sharing thing_ , and we can truly see how interesting this experience could become.'

He laughs loudly. 'Perhaps … someday … when you've learnt to behave.'

A scream leaves her lips when he sends a short burst of the Cruciatus Curse through her body. It's her own magic that is hurting her now and he is pleased to see, his expectation, that this way he will hit his target and not miss, is proven right. So he may not be able to curse the girl using his magic, but her own will do nicely.

'I do not want to hear you address me in that insolent tone of voice again.'

'Then, perhaps, it will be prudent for you not to ask me anymore questions,' Hermione sneers. 'That way you won't have to hear… AHHHH!'

He lets go of her this time and she tumbles to the floor, still screaming from the pain that, no doubt, is aggravating. He calmly watches the girl for a while, and then a simple wave of his hand stops the painful experience.

'Want to feel that again, Granger?'

She shakes her head vigorously and he thinks he hears her … cry?

'Get up,' he orders and he swirls around to pace away, disgusted.

He hears how she scrambles back onto her feet and he turns to face her again, hoping she has regained some of her dignity back. Lord Voldemort utterly despises people who allow themselves to exhibit weakness by sobbing in his presence, but to his surprise there are no signs of any fallen tears at all on her face. Instead, two very angry, brown eyes are glaring at him. He feels almost relieved he was mistaken. The possibility that she was crying, revolted him sincerely. He definitely prefers this display of fury. It not only amuses him severely, but her anger also invigorates her magic and he enjoys the power build up inside of him.

'So you told Narcissa Nagini was a Horcrux?' he says, moving back toward her in a calm and slow manner. He smirks when Granger is not foolish enough to respond to the rhetorical question. 'Lost your tongue, already?' he tauntingly asks.

She quirks an eyebrow. 'You didn't seem to enjoy hearing my answers before. So why should I respond to something you obviously already know the answer to?'

'A valid point,' he softly states, 'I suppose we can dispense with the pleasantries. Where is the Amulet of Aine?'

'I don't know,' Granger immediately blurs out.

He halts before her and takes her face in his hands. 'It will be a mistake to test me, Hermione.'

'If you think that is what I'm doing, then your Leglimency skills are highly overrated.'

He gazes directly into her eyes. 'Where … is … the … Amulet?' he says, lying emphasise on every spoken word.

'I … do … not … know,' Hermione responds in the same emphasising manner.

'Crucio,' he lazily says.

Even though he saw in her eyes, she isn't lying to him; she really needs to learn some manners. Voldemort lifts the curse and watches the girl expectantly. A small upward tug of the corner of his mouth is briefly visible.

'This isn't going to get you anywhere,' Hermione states panting. 'I Obliviated myself. I don't know the whereabouts of the Amulet anymore.'

He narrows his eyes and bends over to lift her chin. 'You Obliviated yourself?' he menacingly asks.

'Yes,' Hermione says and she can't hide the triumph from her voice, while she blatantly stares back into his eyes.

This can become problematic. There are so many places in the UK where she could have hidden the Amulet. It will be like looking for a needle in a haystack. However, Obliviating oneself is a rather tricky business. He'll have to look into it first, but there may still be a chance to gain access to the memory. And if there is, he is certain that he will find it.

He takes a hold of her upper arm and pulls her to her feet. 'You pose quite a lot of problems, Hermione.'

'Glad to be of service.'

'Crucio,' he repeats tiresome. Surely, she must get the point some time. And he lifts the curse, again. This is becoming quite a boring routine.

'According to your academic records you are supposed to be quite clever, Granger. However, those records are beginning to lose their merit more and more with this display of foolishness you're showing me at the moment.'

'If academic records are supposed to be indications of intelligence then, by all means, do explain your high scores to me,' she says sassy.

'Cheeky, aren't we?'

'No, just truthful.'

'Always speaking the truth can be overrated.'

'Because you hear it so often.'

'People do not dare to lie to me.'

'Oh, my Lord … Can I, pretty please, put my life in danger, so you can bask in your glory and I will kiss your arse and grovel, because … My Wonderful Master … I do enjoy being a lowly servant so much,' Hermione says theatrically.

And she is doing a pretty good lifelike imitation of Lucius Malfoy's movements, along with her mocking statements, Voldemort notices to his utter amusement.

'Yes, nobody ever lies to you,' she sarcastically adds, while folding her arms over each other in a derisive posture.

'I can always tell when people lie to me and I respond accordingly. Like I said before Granger, always speaking the truth is overrated.'

'Oh, so you prefer all the phoney sucking up to you?'

It becomes silent and he stares at the girl intently, before a small smile forms on his face. He takes a step forward. Calmly, he encircles her wrists in his hands and pulls her toward him. A flicker of fear darts visibly through her eyes, but she does not back down from his gaze.

'Do you believe their angst of me is phoney, Hermione?' he asks quietly.

They are so close he can feel her chest rise and fall with every breath, and it excites him. But he needs to focus, stay in control. It's the compatible magic that caused him to lose it before. It will not happen again and he continues his questions.

'If they do my bidding out of genuine feelings of anxiety, does that make their words a lie or merely a greater testament to my superiority?'

She isn't responding and he feels her pulse rise in his hands, which is logical, since he is the one speeding it up. Finally, she notices and tries to pull free from his grasp, but he will not have that and he holds her wrists even tighter.

'What are you doing?' she anxiously says.

'Proving my point, darling,' he says emotionless.

'Stop it,' she says and she gives it another, unsuccessful tug.

'Show me the proper respect and I will, Hermione,' he viciously states, knowing full well that her heart must be causing her sever distress at the moment.

Her eyes widen and he knows his point has come across, but he still holds on to her wrists, waiting for her to yield. She crashes to the floor on her knees. He sees her eyes roll to the back of her head and she passes out cold; stubbornly, refusing to submit. Voldemort slowly kneels down beside the unconscious girl and lowers her heart rate back to normal. Another wave with his hand and she gasps, before opening her eyes. He leans in toward her by placing one hand beside her head, and with an ever so victorious feeling his other hand moves beneath her shirt. Her skin feels ever so soft against his touch and he notices the shiver that moves through her at his caress.

'Do you truly think that the power I behold does not attract sincere followers? Tell me, dearest, are you honestly that naïve?' he whispers.

Rather abruptly, he gets back to his feet and stares down triumphant at the girl, who is clearly feeling uncomfortable. He watches her closely as she gets back to her feet also. Breaking her will prove quite a wonderful challenge. He is going to savour every moment of subduing her.

'This must be a real drag for you,' Hermione hisses furiously.

As he said quite the challenge.

'What?' he asks in mock innocence, and he starts to circle her again. Hermione is matching his movements, so they stay face to face.

'Finding out your magic is compatible to a Mudblood's. May I recommend a good shrink to unleash your load about it?'

'Don't play coy with me, Granger.'

'No, I was being serious. You can use a thorough exami… Let go of me.'

Voldemort looks over her shoulder. He has grabbed her arm and twirled her around, so her back would be toward him. And while his arms are still holding tightly around her waist, he whispers in her ear.

'You're in no position to make demands, Hermione. You are mine and I will do with you as I see fit. Now, stop struggling or I will make you stop.'

He extracts the magic from her and the power is intoxicating. She finally halts her squirming about and he smiles.

'That's a good girl,' he purrs and he strokes her hair.

She twitches slightly, but it pleases him that she is clearheaded enough not to start fighting him.

'Let's test this little union of our magic, shall we? You best remain still, Hermione. I don't want to get us Splinched,' Voldemort says deviously.

'Splinched!?' Hermione shouts fearful. 'Are you crazy? You can't Apparate inside Hog…'

'Crack.'

They Apparate to the Riddle Mansion. Voldemort lets out a shout of victory, when they arrive there; intact and wholesome. He has never felt better in his entire life. This discovery certainly is wonderful. He relishes in the sheer power of the magic. He just passed the Hogwarts' Wards as if they aren't even there. Something, that is supposed to be impossible. This is delicious. He will sway the girl. There is no other option. Lord Voldemort does not relinquish this kind of power, not a chance in hell.

It's when he realises Granger isn't doing to great. She hangs in his arms and the only reason she probably is still standing is because of his tight hold of her. Quickly, he places his hand on her ribcage and concentrates in order to allow her magic to flow back inside of her. She is panting heavily as she leans against him and he strokes her face gently.

'Don't worry, Hermione,' he says ever so softly. 'You're going to be fine. I will take very good care of you.'


	12. Chapter 12

**Spoilers:** All Harry Potter books, including Deathly Hallows.

 **Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The above also goes for the James Blunt song text. Nothing of it is mine and I don't get paid for it either. 

**Author's note:** Hermione's POV.

* * *

**The Bittersweet Taste of Victory**

_Did I disappoint you or let you down?  
Should I be feeling guilty or let the judges frown?  
'Cause I saw the end before we'd begun,  
Yes I saw you were blinded and I knew I had won.  
So I took what's mine by eternal right.  
Took your soul out into the night._

_You touched my heart you touched my soul.  
You changed my life and all my goals.  
And love is blind and that I knew when,  
My heart was blinded by you._

_I've kissed your lips and held your head.  
Shared your dreams and shared your bed.  
I know you well, I know your smell.  
I've been addicted to you._

_And I still hold your hand in mine.  
In mine when I'm asleep.  
And I will bear my soul in time,  
When I'm kneeling at your feet._

_Goodbye my lover.  
Goodbye my friend.  
You have been the one.  
You have been the one for me.  
I'm so hollow, baby, I'm so hollow.  
I'm so, I'm so, I'm so hollow_

James Blunt, Goodbye my lover.

**Chapter twelve**

The world is swirling as I feel him push my magic back inside of me. I am trying with all my might to stay conscious; to not pass out from the pain. It's horrific when your own magic gets pulled out of you. I can't even begin to describe the sensation. But even its return does not alleviate the painful symptoms its retraction caused. I can't even stand up straight at this moment. However, Voldemort is holding me so tightly, that I am not lying on the floor in a foetal position. I close my eyes and lean back against him. I need to focus, to overcome these effects. He unleashes one of his arms around my waist. And I brace myself for the inevitable impact with the floor. But instead of him dropping me, he caresses my face gently and I hear the vilest words anyone has ever spoken to me in such a soft manner.

' _Don't worry, Hermione. You're going to be fine. I will take very good care of you.'_

And I know he is never, ever going to let me go, not after that exhibit of magical force he just showed me. Our combined magic provides him with the means to Apparate right through the Hogwarts' Wards! Something that is supposedly impossible. And this is only the beginning, just a little experiment. God only knows what he can do once he truly masters this new found ability. And I am exhausted, drained of all my energy. His restoration of the magic inside of me isn't doing the trick. The world is still spinning and I feel I am on the brink of collapsing. Suddenly, he lifts me up like I am a feather, which I assure you I am not. My head falls on his shoulder and I see a pair of crimson eyes watch me wary before everything turns black again.

It's already dark when I open my eyes again. Eerie shadows dance upon the cracked wooden ceiling my eyes fall upon. The flickering lighting comes from the flames of the torches that hang in various shaped brackets along the wall of the room he has brought me too. Everything in this building seems old and derelict. Except for the bed I am lying in. I get the distinct feeling Voldemort conjured it when I was unconscious. Still, the softness of the bed does not cover up the fact that I feel utterly dreadful. Every muscle in my body is protesting, like I ran a marathon yesterday without the proper training in advance. Needless to say I feel tremendously tired. I turn my head around slowly to check my surroundings further, a bit worried that any movement may enhance the pain I am currently feeling.

Unfortunately, Lord Voldemort hasn't miraculously disappeared, while I was out cold. He is standing in front of the partially boarded window, staring outside to something, though I can't help but wonder if he actually is seeing what is really out there. He seems very much caught up in his own mind. I think we're still at the place he Apparated us to, though I have no idea where we are.

'My late father's mansion in Little Hangleton,' he answers my unspoken question shortly, spooking the living daylights out of me.

And as he swirls around, his black robes swaying elegant around him from the movement, I wonder why on earth I ever felt intimidated by Professor Snape. It isn't even the strange inhuman snakelike features, which mark his appearance, that are responsible for the distinct impression Lord Voldemort leaves on others. It's his posture; the manner in which he holds himself that dictates the fear and awes his presence commands. Well, there is that, and then, there is his eerie ability to stare straight into your very being. All this combined with the knowledge of what the man is capable off, makes him without a doubt the most dangerous and feared wizard of all time. And that wizard is now slowly gliding towards me.

I plant my hands in the mattress and manage to push myself in a more or less seated position against the headboard. The pillow my head was resting on is now crumbled up behind me in a rather uncomfortable manner, but what is even more disturbing is Voldemort, who has arrived beside the bed and is gazing down on me with a peculiar glint in his eyes. A lazy flick of his wand removes the sheet and blankets that only partly covered me up. His eyes meticulously take in my appearance and I realise that I am not wearing my clothes anymore, but a rather thin, silk, black nighty that he must have slipped on me while I was out. It's a bit too short and revealing for my taste, but there is not much I can do about that right now.

As I look up to him he takes a hold of my face, and in an ever so calm and collective manner he seats himself on the bed before me. Once again I am reminded how very tall he is and how bloody short I am, because he towers above me even though we are seated at equal height. I feel my chest constricting and my breath hitches in my throat as his other hand comes to rest on my leg. I tense up considerably. This is one of those fight or flight moments. However, I am incapable of doing both and I remain frozen at the scene; silent.

'I have rendered your magic back to you, but you have not reverted back to your previous condition,' Voldemort concludes. 'Where does it hurt?'

I blink. Yeah, right, like I am going to donate that information freely. Just exactly how stupid does he think I am? He smiles for a moment and then his hand leaves my leg and joins his other at my head. And as his long, spidery fingers softly roam through my hair, he closes his eyes. His wand, perhaps, I can…

But a massive bolt of energy strikes me as his hands swiftly move down and come to rest on my shoulders. I gasp; my eyes widen; my legs bend; and my hands clench on to the sheet that covers the mattress, while I slowly sink back further. It feels like he is pushing me down, though I can tell his hands aren't pressing on to me. It's the sheer force of the strange energy that he is channelling through me, that is forcing me to drop further down, back into a semi lying position. But as it travels past the painful areas of my body it almost seems to pull the pain away and I feel rejuvenated when he is done. The only thing that remains pounding is my head now. He opens his eyes again and gazes at me with those slit-shaped pupils.

'Better?' he enquires, while his hands are resting on my shoulders.

I merely nod in astonishment.

'Close your eyes,' he orders.

I do as he says. It's not like I have much of a choice here. I shiver as a small breeze brushes my exposed skin. This house really is draughty.

'Cold, honey?' he whispers rhetorically and his hands take a hold of my head again.

A slightly different jolt flows through my throbbing mind and the pounding slowly diminishes. A soft blow of his breath on the skin of my neck makes me tremble and the coldness that instills my body dissipates. It's when I realise he is too close for comfort, but only my mind is thinking that, my body is telling me otherwise. He tilts my head slightly and I feel his lips brush mine. Briefly, he hovers there, teasing me with his presence, before capturing me in a passionate kiss. I can feel his tongue demanding entry and I comply with his wishes.

A part of me is screaming at me to push him away, to fight, and to remember who is kissing me so very deliciously. Only another, far more vocal, part is edging me on, making me quiver at his touch and telling me to forget and enjoy the moment. His hands leave my head and start to investigate my body. It feels like he is everywhere at once, when his left arm wraps around my back and pulls me down completely. I open my eyes when I feel his weight coming down on me. A distinctive hunger is ever so evident in his features and a victorious, predatory glint darts through his eyes as I move my hands to touch his pale face. I am certain that it would glow in the dark so bright is his extreme white complexion. In a trance-like state I caress his bald head, before moving down to his body, which is still annoyingly covered by his robes. And as I fiddle on the damn buttons that are hidden underneath layers of thin, soft fabric, he circles my tongue with his, ravishing my mouth in a manner that seals his hold over me, before moving on to different ground. A soft whisper in my ear tells me to stop fooling around with the buttons.

'Use your magic, dear. Here, I'll guide you,' he says.

I close my eyes and he guides me to allow my magic to undress him. 'Yessss,' he hisses, 'you're doing fine, Hermione.'

His hand takes a hold of my knee and bends my leg while pushing it to the side. He traces the inside of my thigh with the tip of his fingers and I shudder, while he barely touches me. A wave of his hand and his magic hits me between my legs where I am most vulnerable and I arch into him while groaning in delight. Our eyes meet and I see the triumph in his as I buck toward him.

'Do you want me inside of you, Hermione?' he asks smirking and simultaneously another brush of his magic hits me down there with a casual wave of his hand.

'Yes,' I moan, shaking from pleasure.

'Tell me; hon, was I your first?'

Another lazy gesture. 'Ooohh.'

And I feel like I am about to explode. My body aches and yearns for him. Every fibre of my being wishes he would stop fooling around and get on with it. But all he does is position himself at my entrance and tease me with his magic. 'Answer me, Hermione,' he demands.

I forgot what the question was.

Rough, he grabs a hold of my chin and pulls my attention to his face. 'Have you ever been with another man?'

There is a threatening undertone in his voice when he asks me that question. Almost like it is something you can answer wrong. 'No,' I answer truthfully. I never got around to it.

He stares into my eyes for a long time, and suddenly, when I no longer expect it to happen, he trusts inside of me with a gleeful snarl. My body arches to accommodate him and I try to grab a hold of him, but he captures my wrists and pushes my arms back into the mattress. It's surprising how someone who seems all skin and bones can be so strong. And I struggle for the release of my arms, but he merely smiles at my attempts and halts his movements; pinning me down with his body completely. God that man is a bloody tease. I growl out of frustration and he softly bites my earlobe.

'I like how you feel around me, Hermione,' he breathes into my ear. 'Only you are a bit too comfortable right now, wouldn't you agree, darling?'

Comfortable, he has gone nutters. My body aches and flinches in distress from the need it has to be thoroughly touched. And he is just lying there, buying his time, baiting me.

'Oh, but you are sweetheart. Let's do something about that, shall we? I believe you could be a little tighter around me.'

His eyes flash viciously at me and fear washes over me, when I feel my muscles contract at the command of his magic. He moves his mouth towards mine and whispers on my lips. 'Move with me, dear. Unless you like to hurt yourself.'

And he starts trusting back and forth inside of me in a dilatory manner. I know he will damage me severely if I don't move with him. So I wrap my legs around his back to prevent him from exiting, as I desperately try to keep up with his rhythm. He is purposely not keeping a steady pace, making it impossible for me to follow continuously, and as he rocks inside of me, I cry out in a mixture of pain and delight. After a while, he picks up the pace and I can no longer keep up even a little bit. So I close my eyes, stop my attempts at gaining some control of the situation and surrender myself to his mercy.

'Yesss,' he hisses at my submission and he finally takes pity on me and pushes me over the crest of the wave he has held me on for so long. An unearthly scream leaves my mouth when the full impact of my release makes its way through me, while he snarls my name upon his own completion. He drops beside me in the bed and I hear him pant as heavily as I do. I am exhausted, soar and I know I am bleeding relentlessly, but I feel thoroughly satisfied.

It's when his magic strikes me again and I notice how he stops the bleeding and is healing me. He slowly leans over me, pulls me backwards against his chest and holds me in his arms while his magic washes over me.

'Sleep, Hermione,' he quietly says, 'you need to gather your strength. I've got so much to teach you.'

I am a bit tired when I wake the next morning even though I slept in considerably. Voldemort isn't there anymore. Maybe he suddenly realised he did it again with a Mudblood and went on to drop himself of the nearest cliff out of shame. Well, a girl can dream, can't she? I crawl out of bed and put on my robes that are lying neatly folded on top of the dresser. My wand, however, is conveniently absent.

The sun peeps through the cracks of the wood that cover the window and curiously, I walk over and glance outside. The view is magnificent. The house is standing on top of a hill and is overlooking the wildly overgrown grounds and the almost Dickens-like village below. A small church and its churchyard are partly visible, when I realise that is the place he had Wormtail kill Cedric and used Harry to resurrect himself. Somehow knowing that diminishes the charm of the view completely and I walk to the door of the bedroom.

Upon grabbing a hold of the doorknob I turn it, not really expecting the door to open, but it does. I'm baffled by this strange occurrence, but I don't linger on it and proceed onward. The wooden floorboards crack underneath my weight, but it remains silent in the house, like it is empty and abandoned again. I walk down the stairs slowly, expecting Voldemort to pop up out of nowhere any second now, when I realise it also feels empty to me. I don't sense him anywhere. OK, this is too weird.

I walk to the front door and open it. There isn't a single ward set in place preventing me to leave. OK, scratch the weird part and enter insulting. Does he really think that just because I shagged him last night, I have suddenly become his devoted servant? Pffttt… Maybe our magic makes me have these minor lapses in judgement around him, but that doesn't mean I have forgotten everything and gone completely bananas. Merlin and his little "I-Can-Sense-Your-Magic-Everywhere" theory can go straight to hell. I swirl out the door and pace down the garden path. Feel free to use a Hogsmeade Apparation Portal to return to Hogwarts, Riddle. I am so out of here, wand or no wand.

'Going somewhere?'

'Argghh,' I growl frustrated upon hearing that taunting question and I swirl around.

He is standing there, his black robes waving softly in the wind, and he seems ever so comfortable with the situation. His arms are folded over each other and his head is tilted slightly, while he is leaning in a casual manner against an old yew tree with his shoulder. He is clearly enjoying himself a lot and it is aggravating the crap out of me. I plant my hands on my hips and glare at him furiously.

'Not happy to see me?' he teasingly asks. 'And here I was under the impression that you kind of liked having me around.'

'Well, then you were mistaken,' I snarl.

He sends me a mocking smile and he starts making disapproving clicking noises with his tongue, while pushing himself away from the tree. 'Trying to fool yourself, darling?' he softly states as he slowly strides toward me. 'You see I have this very fond memory of last night when you practically begged me to become very intimately close to you.'

'Now, who is trying to fool himself?' I spat. 'You know perfectly well last night meant nothing or did you skip those sections in Merlin's book?'

'Oh … I read those sections, Hermione, but did you? Or maybe you read it, but didn't quite understand the true meaning of Merlin's words, because you had to miss out on access to more valuable sources of information?'

I narrow my eyes at his condescending tone, but he merely laughs at me. 'Shall I explain it to you properly?'

'Don't bother,' I hiss and he raises his eyebrows, while strolling in my direction. I fold my own arms over each other and match his condescending tone perfectly. 'I am perfectly aware that a person's magic is controlled by his or hers Central Nervous System. Any performance of magic is guided through your neural pathways. Hence our magical compatibility is a physical attribute that affects other bodily functions that are guided by your nerves as well, making the unfortunate events of last night very easily explanatory.'

'Really?' he says smiling and he halts inches away from me.

'Yeah, really,' I sneer, 'it's only the magical compatibility that provides physical compatibility, which explains the physical attraction when we get too close, as right now. So you may want to remove yourself a bit further.'

A short laugh greets my rather perky statement and his hand reaches out to caress my cheek.

'True, that's Merlin's explanation, but there is so much more to it, Hermione,' he says quietly, 'after all, you did share your body with me willingly last night or do you deny that?'

'It was only sex. It means nothing,' I say defiantly, but a small string of doubt is beginning to form in mind, because he is eyeing me far too victoriously. Still, I don't recall anything in Merlin's writings that will put me in trouble over what happened last night. He's probably just toying with me. Yes, that has to be it.

Voldemort has moved his hand to my shoulder and is now slowly strolling around me, while leaving his arm in place. Finally, he stops behind me and he pulls me toward him. Our extensive contact makes the magic inside of me jump with joy, but unlike last night I am able to remain clearheaded. I am certain it was no big deal. It is just an unconditioned physical response. A reflex, that's what Merlin compared it to. It means nothing.

'I am afraid you are misinformed, dear,' he whispers in my ear. 'It means everything. Especially, since I am the only man who has ever taken you. But I suppose I can't blame you for not knowing this, since the Dark Arts weren't thoroughly taught during the days you attended Hogwarts. You really should have nicked some of the other banned books too, beside Secrets of the Darkest Art. It may have made you aware beforehand of what you so generously donated me yesterday. Would you like me to enlighten you?'

And he is clearly snickering at my expense now. I can practically feel his pleasure and my heart turns heavy. Please, don't let me have missed something that can worsen this situation. I've got enough on my plate as it is. His crimson eyes gaze down on me and he places his hand around my neck and pushes me into him further. My head leans slightly over his shoulder as he presses his fingers lightly down on the arteries that supply my brain with oxygen. I can feel the pulse of my blood against his fingertips and it is beginning to speed up.

'Hmm… are you finally getting worried, Hermione?' Voldemort says calmly. 'You must know I don't make idle statements or threats. I always have something to back them up with. And in your case that something is so wonderful. Can't you feel how my mere touch affects you now? The power you granted me?'

And his magic soars through me, almost knocking me out completely, but now I know he is bluffing.

'You already did this to me yesterday. Nothing has changed,' I state certain.

He kisses me on the cheek. 'Everything has changed, darling. You've lost. Yesterday, you could have returned the favour the moment I let my guard down. Now … you no longer can.'

I momentarily stop breathing upon that statement. 'What?' I blurt out stupidly and he kisses me again.

'In Merlin's days, they had a rather narrowed view on humans. Mind, magic and body were seen as thoroughly separate entities. Merlin already made an exceptional step forward by acknowledging that a person's magic is coming from within his or hers' body. Therefore explaining the physical attraction he had with Viviane. Only he started rambling on love and other silly notions and failed to understand the power of the mind in matters such as these. It is your mind that is responsible for the control of your magic and body, but your mind counts on the independence of the other two. The power of three is hard to break, but last night you handed me one of those willingly. You freely gave me, and only me, your body. An intricate part of who you are. And without your body being your own, your mind can not break the hold I have over your magic. So thank you for handing me the very essence of your being last night. I'm truly sorry to disappoint you, but our having sex wasn't just physical. It was so much more.'

'Oh Merlin, no,' I think as I close my eyes in desperation. There has to be a loophole. Something he misjudged. I can't have made such a huge mistake. I just can't. There has to be a way out of this for me. Some way I can survive this.

'But there is, dear,' he whispers in response to my unspoken question and I realise he has used his considerable Leglimency skills to get into the only place that is, apparently, still my own. He is inside my mind.

'Join me, Hermione. Join me and I will show you a form of magic that is greater than anything else in the world. Join me and I will teach you everything I know. Join me and I will grant you more power than you've ever held before and more than anyone else will ever have. Join me and I will set you free.'

'If I join you, I will never be free.'

'An understandable, yet erroneous conclusion; the truth is you'll never be free, if you won't join me.'

'Not interested,' I say stubborn.

'I think you are. You've been denying yourself to grow beyond the mediocre; holding yourself back on silly notions of right and wrong, good and bad, but the world isn't just black and white, is it? There are lots of beautiful grey colours. You only need to want to see them. Notice them Hermione, and become the extra-ordinary witch I know you can be.'

And I don't know why I do it. I got Crucio-ed several times because of my responses yesterday. I am very much aware of the fact that I have no means to defend myself, and normally, I am must smarter than this. I really ought to be thinking before acting, but somehow, he is so annoyingly present and I absolutely want to wipe that infuriating, triumphant smirk of his face.

'Your manipulative mind games won't work on me, Tom Riddle,' I say risky.

I am positive that using his real name shall do the trick and remove that pleased expression permanently. I am right. I am also right about it not being the smartest move I ever made. He extracts every last shred of magic from me and I cry out in sever pain, while he Apparates us back to his quarters in Hogwarts. Unlike before he does not help me, but leaves me crawling in distress and despair on the floor, while he goes about his business, watching me ever so coldly from the corner of his eyes for hours, until I am exhausted and can no longer move, for I feel nothing anymore. I am certain I am about to die, when he, suddenly, comes back into view and towers above me.

A casual gesture of his hand makes my magic flow back inside of me and I can breathe again. Only the pain returns with a vengeance upon his restoration of my magic. He walks away as I scream my lungs out yet again, and a second later, the room goes silent for he used a Silencing Charm on me. I try any posture I can think of to ease the pain, but nothing helps and I lie there in more agony than I've ever known in my life, as the sun slowly begins to set on the horizon. And my mind begs to him to stop, to please help me. I may not be able to make a sound, but I know he can hear me. I tell him I can't take this anymore, but he is rubbing it in.

Finally, when the candles need lighting and it has turned thoroughly dark outside, Lord Voldemort returns to tower above me and he gazes down on my still, sore figure coldly. I feel sick with myself as I stare at him, pleading. And as he stands there beside me, I am hoping he will, at last, release me of this ordeal. A vile smile graces his marble white face and I see his red eyes flash in delight upon seeing my tormented state of being glare at him hopefully.

Oh Merlin, he is not done yet. And I feel my levels of fear rise beyond my wildest dreams. What more can he possibly do to me? Locking my eyes with his gaze, he mentally tells me what he wants from me and undoes the Silencing Charm. And I need this to end now, so I comply. I roll my strenuous body over on my stomach and crawl toward him on all fours.

'Please forgive me, my Lord and Master,' I whisper and I kiss the hem of his robes, feeling utterly revolted with myself.

Several seconds pass as I am lying there before him, when a mere flash of his wand ends my misery and I slip into a delicious state of unconsciousness.

* * *

A warm prickling streak of sunlight is what wakes me. I blink several times before realising it is morning again and I have awoken in a tiresome state as usual. His arms are possessively wrapped around me and I feel the warmth of his body against my back. When he first pulled me in his bed at Hogwarts like this, I thought he was going to force himself on me, but he didn't. He has made no attempt to take me after that night in the Riddle Mansion, when I willingly had sex with him and suffered the dire consequences of it.

So I figured he held me in his arms to unnerve me, to get me to fold. But it didn't take me long to notice there is much more to it. For I always wake extremely tired and he always jumps out of bed with tremendous ease and spirit. Gosh, I truly hate morning people and I have been rooting for some cat to do something about this particular early bird, but alas… nothing has come to pass, yet. Anyway, my tiredness and his liveliness made me realise that by holding me while I sleep, he somehow extracts magical energy from me. I don't quite understand how though and much to my own annoyance I also have no idea how to block it either.

I look at the calendar that hangs on the wall. It's September the first. Today the students will arrive and another year at Hogwarts will begin once more. I find it hard to believe I've been his prisoner for more than a month now, but it is what it is and it doesn't look like the end of this horror is coming to a close soon. Lord Voldemort has tortured me to an extend I did not even dream was possible and there were many times I prayed for some form of escape, whether it was death or slipping into insanity. I didn't care either way. But he is not that unskilful, nor makes emotional errors like that around me. I tried though. I called him Tom Riddle again, hoping to infuriate him beyond reason, when I knew I was almost on the brink of losing my mind, but he didn't swallow the bait. He merely laughed in my face at what he called a foolish attempt of me trying to escape him.

' _I will never let you go, Hermione, never.'_

I still hear him speak those words right before he made me pay tremendously in a manner that did not harm me irreversibly. I haven't used his given name after that ever again. And since he obviously wasn't going to do me the pleasure of killing me, I tried killing myself. I stopped eating. At first he glanced at me amusedly, when I didn't touch my plate. He would have the House-elves deliver me food that smelled incredibly delicious and it was very difficult to refrain from taking a bite to eat when my stomach growled in protest, but Voldemort did nothing while I got weaker and weaker.

Until one evening when he, apparently, was fed up with my display of defiance. He pulled me on his lap and immobilised my body to spoon-feed me an entire meal meticulously. It was one of the most humiliating experiences of a lifetime and after he was done he warned me that, if I wasn't going to eat on my own from now on, he would have to entertain some dinner guests the next time he was going to feed me. The idea of Lucius Malfoy witnessing me being fed like a baby pretty much turned my stomach and I started eating again.

Besides the physical torture Lord Voldemort would test my mental restraint by targeting my weaknesses and insecurities, which he found out about during his extensive excursions into my mind. I haven't been able to pull any decent form of mind block in place anymore and he has attacked my mind and entered it so many times that I doubt there is a single thing about me that still remains a secret from him.

Fortunately, I partly Obliviated myself. So my parents and the Amulet of Aine continue to be beyond his reach. I know they are the reason he keeps on using Leglimency to force his way into my mind, but I relish in the fact that it has turned a useless endeavour. He can't find what isn't there. And every time he tries and throws a fit after another failed attempt, I enjoy a little victory over him once more.

But then, there is his other, quite different strategy. It entails him promising me the world if I'll join him. Voldemort tries to bait me with knowledge and books he knows I have not read, due to their incredibly dark nature. He will lock me up in his library with no company for days and I have to admit I find it really hard not to grab one of the books on the shelves and start reading. It's by knowing, it is what he wants me to do, that I have been able to stop myself. At those moments, when he tries to pull me into his realm, he invigorates me with his magic and teases me severely by making my body grave his, while simultaneously denying me a release. He will allow me a taste of the power I can behold and then drain me of everything, until I am crawling on the floor begging for mercy.

I have to admit I prefer the much easier to resist physical torture over this strategy, because he can make it sound so logical and sane to give in. He makes it almost feel like it's the right thing to pledge my undying, unwavering devotion to him. And I need to hang on to every last shred of my memory and mind to not fall into the traps he so cleverly spins around me. I can thoroughly remember that one time when I almost surrendered. I was about to tell him he had won, that I would be his, when he swirled away, furiously.

And in his fury he let his mind wander and I heard him think that I am the utmost infuriating, stubbornness creature he ever had the misfortune to meet. It is the biggest favour he unwillingly did me, letting me know I am getting to him as well. It makes me realise there still is a chance, as long as I don't give in, there is still hope. If only I can turn the tables. If only I knew how Viviane broke Merlin's hold over her. If only I can get rid of him; if only…


	13. Chapter 13

**Spoilers:** All Harry Potter books, including Deathly Hallows.

 **Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. I also don't own or make a single penny from Star Wars and the U2 song text.

 **Author's note:** Voldemort's POV. 

* * *

**The Bittersweet Taste of Victory**

_In my dreams I was drowning my sorrows_

_But my sorrows they learned to swim_

_Surrounding me, going down on me_

_Spilling over the brim_

_In waves of regret, waves of joy_

_I reached out for the one I tried to destroy_

_You, you said you'd wait until the end of the world._

U2, Until the end of the world.

**Chapter Thirteen**

A cold prickling streak of moonlight is what wakes him. He blinks several times before realising it's still night time. Carefully, in order not to wake Granger, he lifts himself up slightly and checks the clock next to the calendar. It's almost five a.m. on September the first, meaning the midgets will return to crowd the classrooms and corridors of Hogwarts this evening. Though, Lord Voldemort is very much looking forward to witness this year's sorting ceremony. A vile smile is visible on his by moonlight illuminated snakelike face as he watches the tiny witch in his arms. She doesn't know it yet, but he intends to take her with him to the Great Hall.

'Hermione Jean Granger, you will be the guest of honour tonight,' he whispers at her sleeping form.

His hand strokes through her soft curls and he kisses her hair. She really smells delicious. He pulls her in a bit closer and she stirs due to the movement, but does not wake. She is so beautiful when she lies there, such an innocent and vulnerable sight. He just wants to take her right now and he moves his head around to capture her mouth, but he freezes as his lips brush hers. What is he doing? Has he lost his mind completely? Lord Voldemort falls back into the mattress. He can't believe he almost made a blunder of magnificent proportions there. He feels like hexing the blasted cause of his problems. If only she will stop her foolish resistance. If only she will finally see reason and join him. If only…

But today, he is going to show everyone in the Wizarding World that this wonderful witch, this last symbol of resistance, has succumbed to him. The sorting ceremony is the perfect occasion for that. All the students will be there and by tomorrow almost every parent will be Owled about her fall and the news will spread from thereon. Lord Voldemort knows how fast gossip travels in this castle and beyond. The news will be delivered quicker around the globe like this than if he allows the Daily Prophet to print it on the front page. And ironically, those rumours will be taken much more seriously. So what if it is slightly incorrect. Nobody needs to know _that_. He snickers softly. It will be a beautiful day.

He lies awake for a long time. The sun has risen already and he thinks that Granger has woken up as well, but she isn't moving. Maybe she thinks he is still asleep. How considerate of her. It astonishes even him how little sleep he requires these days, for he is bursting with excess energy. Merlin wasn't kidding when he said that his powers grew tremendously after he came in contact with Viviane. He watches the bushy haired witch in his arms, if she will just be sensible, then he won't have to block his magic from her, but as long as she keeps on resisting him; he will not allow her to feel the benefits of this magical union. All he needs to remember is to keep his wits about him.

'Good morning, Hermione,' Voldemort says ever so happily and he kisses her on the cheek. He is certain today will be just wonderful; victorious. It just feels that way. 'Rise and shine, honey. It's going to be a great day.'

And he jumps out of bed and goes to freshen up. He has an early meeting with Sloan scheduled, and after that he needs to listen to Lucius whine, as usual. But he is absolutely positive that nothing can make him feel upset today. Nothing at all.

* * *

'Ah, Sloan come in, come in,' Voldemort says cheerful. 'Want some breakfast or have you eaten at home?'

'I'm fine, my Lord,' Sloan replies even.

'Are you sure?' Voldemort says joyous and he waves a freshly backed croissant under the nose of the Unspeakable. 'They're delicious.'

'My wife made me breakfast this morning and I'm still quite full,' says the slightly surprised Liam Sloan. He is shifting uncomfortable on his feet when he refuses the Dark Lord's offer, but he is certain he has no more room to spare in his stomach and he is even more certain that Voldemort will be more pissed off, if he starts puking all over his carpet, then from him refusing the offer.

'Fine, your loss,' is Voldemort's only response and he continues eating tastefully.

Sloan frowns at this unusual behaviour. Not that he is complaining about this happy go lucky mood, but it feels kind of weird. 'How can I be of service, my Lord?' he asks politely as ever.

'Always straight to business, eh, Sloan,' says Voldemort, wiping his mouth with a napkin. 'Well, let's go into the study and talk. I have something I need done, and apparently, the idiots abroad can't complete the task on their own.'

Lord Voldemort flies to his feet and swirls out of the dinning room toward the study. Sloan is still standing next to the table in shock of his lordship's speed this morning. From the corner of his eye Sloan sees Hermione enter the dinning room too.

'Not a morning person either?' she asks amused.

But Sloan can't reply, because Voldemort is already back. 'Ha, darling, when you're done eating breakfast, I expect you to join me in my study,' he says happy. 'Sloan, are you coming or do you want that croissant after all?'

Voldemort smirks as Sloan shakes his head fervently in response and the Unspeakable bids Hermione goodbye by giving her a courteous nod, before passing the Dark Lord in the doorway. It pleases him sincerely that Sloan has the good sense to always be correct in his manners. He had to enlighten certain others that they were not to disrespect his property by any means without his explicit permission. After his kind, gentle and thorough _'explanation'_ those morons had refrained from harassing the girl.

'Second door on your right,' Voldemort says to Sloan, but he does not follow in after the Unspeakable.

Voldemort remains standing in the doorway, watching Hermione sit down to have breakfast. He still recalls her somewhat silly stand by refusing to eat. Personally, he never thought it was such a good idea to let yourself get weaker and weaker around an opponent you're trying to defeat and he allowed her to continue the foolish endeavour, but when she seemed a bit too resolved to actually killing herself, he had to stop her, naturally. Her death will be his call and his call alone; not hers. He tilts his head. She certainly has gotten her appetite back. Her head turns in his direction. So she finally notices he is still standing here. It is about time. He sees the questionable expression rise on her features as she leans backward in her chair.

'What?' she asks defiantly.

He smiles. It's a tone of voice he has grown accustomed to, coming from her that is. Always defiant, always challenging him every step of the way, Hermione does nothing without a fight. His crimson eyes sparkle at the thought of another verbal sparring match, but he really doesn't have the time. He needs to speak with Sloan about rather important matters, so he settles for a short warning.

'Don't keep me waiting, dear,' he replies ever so casual. 'I'm in a good mood. You don't want to spoil that.'

And he swirls out, his cloak bellowing behind him, making it impossible for her to react in her usual _'subtle'_ manner. When he enters his study, Sloan is standing with his hands folded behind his back in front of the shelves, reading the titles on the backs of the books.

'So Sloan, sit down,' Voldemort says and he beckons to the chair in front of the desk, while removing a map from the shelves and handing it to the man. 'This is a file of Hermione's parents. I'm through waiting for news from those Aurors abroad, who claim they can't find two muggles. Now, she has already hidden them once in Australia from me, and her mind showed me, she moved them out of there. Unfortunately, she Obliviated the part from her brain quite adequately where she held her memory of their current whereabouts. However, she was in France after the memory gap.'

'So they are not in France or in Australia,' concludes Sloan calm and he skips through the papers, halting at several pictures.

'Exactly what I thought,' Voldemort replies satisfied. He just knew this man is a valuable addition to his ranks and this proofs him right once more.

Sloan looks up from the file. 'They only speak English?' he asks Voldemort.

'And some French. But not enough to not stick out in a crowd and they can't hide behind magic,' Voldemort says and he leans back in his chair behind the desk.

'So Granger has most likely moved them to an English speaking nation in order not to draw too much attention to them being foreigners and all,' Sloan mutters more to himself. 'Canada, the United States of America, South Africa…'

'No, it's either Canada or the States,' Voldemort interrupts him. 'I had her hideout in France checked and they were still able to find Apparation Residues pointing in that direction.'

'Big countries,' Sloan mumbles, 'hmmm, I'm guessing they will be in one of the major cities; nice and crowded. Easy to blend in without people noticing you weren't there before.'

Voldemort nods. 'They used to be dentists and they had that same profession in Australia under the name of Monica and Wendell Wilkins, but that can be different this time around.'

'Maybe another health-care profession,' says Sloan. 'People don't change that much and she wouldn't have had the time to completely alter their personality traits.'

'Even if she would have had the time … I doubt she would have changed them. I don't think she could do that to them. She loves them too much,' Voldemort adds and a devious anticipatory glint flows through his crimson eyes. 'I'm guessing you only have to look for a different name and background, but she will not have altered them. Those pictures will suffice.'

Sloan looks up from the file rather surprised. 'No transfiguration of appearances?' he asks the now smirking Dark Lord.

'No, trust me,' Voldemort says triumphant, 'I know Hermione. I am certain that when you find them; her parents will look as they do in that picture.'

'This is a thorough file. How long have the Americans and Canadians been searching for them?' Sloan asks curious.

Voldemort growls. 'For six months now.'

Sloan raises his eyebrows. 'Then I am scratching Canada,' he says to Voldemort's surprise. 'Canada is a well organised country; a phoney paper trail would have been located by the Canadian Aurors within two months. They have to be in the United States. It's much easier to disappear there, with everything being run so tremendously chaotic on a State level. Though, I sometimes wonder whether they are doing it on purpose to hinder us.'

'If you run into problems down there, use whatever force you deem necessary to get the job done, Liam. I am through waiting. I want this search to become a number one priority to all.'

Sloan looks back at the file. 'I will have to look into our muggle records, but this won't be too difficult. I'll make certain the U.S. Aurors understand that it is within their best interest to get this over and done with. We've had some problems in the past due to their lacking collaboration; maybe another cleansing of that Office is required again. They truly can be quite annoying. However, I'm guessing it will take me less than a month to find the Grangers and bring them before you.'

'And make certain everyone understands that I need them alive and well, Liam,' Voldemort adds warningly. 'I will not be pleased if some idiot spoils my plans by killing them.'

'Consider it done,' replies Sloan certain and they shake hands.

A knock on the door interrupts them. 'Such a nice and polite woman,' Voldemort says grinning, while directing Sloan to the door.

He had to teach her a lesson of course, before she stopped disrespecting him in front of others, but there was no need to enlighten Sloan about that. The first time Hermione badmouthed him, was in front of a couple of journalists. He had seen the horror in her eyes when he killed every single one of them and he made her a promise to do this every time she disrespected him again before an audience.

So when Lucius came to bring him another boring report Granger just had to make a few remarks. Voldemort snorts at the memory. She had been glaring at him rather snotty, practically daring him to make good on his word and kill his grovelling Death Eater. Well, he wasn't particularly attached to Lucius, but still he wasn't going to do Granger a favour. So after Lucius had left, he had Apparated them in an invisible state to Oxford Street in London, right before Selfridges; a muggle warehouse.

Muggles, there are still too many of them around. They're like rodents. You kill one of them and ten pop up out of nowhere to visit its funeral.

However, it had been a very satisfactory experience, for him, when he told her to pick a muggle who was going to die. She had refused, of course, which meant he had to inform her that, if he had to do the picking, he wouldn't stop at one. Her despair had been utterly delightful. He still relishes at the memory of her trembling body, how she had pleaded with him to spare those filthy bugs lifes.

'It's not their fault. I can't, please don't make me do this. I won't say anything ever again.'

'Oh, I know you will respect me from now on, Hermione. That's what this little lesson is for. You need to be punished. Now, pick one fast, because I am through standing here among filth,' he said harsh.

It was when the most enjoyable part of the lesson came about. He still is very pleased with how he handled things there.

'And I really don't understand what your problem is,' he continued lightly. 'You see, dearest, it doesn't actually matter which one of those ignorant busybodies dies. You can do it like this.'

And he had pointed his wand at a way too cheerful four year old girl. ' _Eeny_ ,' he said. It was clear in his mind that anyone who wore pink ribbons in their hair definitely needed to leave this earth immediately. ' _Meeny_ ,' he added joyful, and his wand was now directed to a mother who held on to five tiny brats. Well, a muggle who bred this fast should be eliminated, period. ' _Miny_ ,' he whispered in Hermione's ear. And he made a dismissive motion to a snogging couple that in his mind definitely counted as one and deserved to die for being so weak and disgustingly in love en public. ' _Moo_ ,' he finished. He reserved that one to draw Hermione's attention to the little baby that lay in one of those annoyingly, ankle busting perambulators, which definitely should be made illegal. Or otherwise the ridiculous women who used them as bulldozers to get through a busy street should all be killed instantaneously. Hmm… he knew what he was going to do.

'I've made my choice Hermione, so what's it going to be? Your choice or mine?' Lord Voldemort said devious.

She had finally pointed to an old man who looked like he was on the verge of collapsing, anyway.

'Too late, honey,' he said smiling over his victory.

And he had killed the girl, the mother and her five children, the couple, the baby and the perambulator-pusher and … the old man. She had gasped when he killed the old man she had pointed out too. He had known that would strike hard; it was the sole reason he had been waiting in the first place. Lord Voldemort never was going to allow her any choice in this matter.

'Well, you were quite right,' he said viciously, adding hurt to injury, 'he shouldn't pollute this earth any longer either. It's a good thing you brought him to my attention. I might have missed that waste of space otherwise.'

It's when his wonderful reminiscence ends. Sloan opens the door to exit the study and seeing Hermione stand there brings Voldemort back to reality and out of his delightful daydream.

'Enter dearest.' Voldemort says smirking.

'I'll be in touch,' Sloan says and he leaves the study with the file under his arm. 'Miss Granger.'

'Mr Sloan,' Hermione replies blank.

The door closes behind Sloan and Voldemort smiles inwardly. If only she knew what he had just sent that man out to do. It's when he notices Hermione is watching him rather suspiciously. Hmm… she is always way too observant for her own good.

'Why the suspicious glances, dear?' he asks, while he moves next to her and brushes her hair to the side, uncovering her neckline to him.

He rather enjoys intimidating her like this, simply by his mere presence and their proximity. Hermione turns her head to face him, but she does not answer his question. Instead she merely glares back. Oh, so she wants to play. He doesn't mind that at all, because naturally, he always wins. He wraps his arms around her and pulls her against him. She blinks. See, he has already won. His crimson eyes take in every aspect of her appearance and he caresses her face with the back of his hand, before leaning in closely to whisper in her ear.

'If you were on my side, you wouldn't have to wonder about what I was planning to do to you,' he tells her, making sure to have his breath brush her sensitive skin. 'There would be no need for those glances and you could be happy, just as I am right now. Don't you want to be happy, Hermione?' And he pulls her even closer, before kissing her in the neck. He smirks in victory when he feels her shudder. 'Don't you like being wanted?' Kiss. 'Needed?' Another kiss. 'There are so many who crave my attention, but here I am, giving it all to you, darling.'

Her cheek brushes his, and he thinks that it feels rather wonderfully soft, when she turns her head to whisper back into his ear. He sees the smirk on her face as she responds rather viciously.

'Feel free to hand it to them, dearest. I don't want or need any of it.'

Voldemort leans backward to lock her deer brown eyes with his and as another staring match begins, he allows their magic to flow to his hands while he moves them from her waist up her body and down again, making certain to hit her susceptible areas with it. The corner of his mouth twitches upward, when he can feel her tremble against him.

'Your body tells me otherwise,' he softly says, before magically brushing her again. This time he maintains it longer and he smiles when she grabs a hold of his arms to prevent from falling. 'You need some support, baby?' he says smiling and he uses one arm to hold her to him.

She is beginning to shake no and tries to push him away, but his other hand is targeting her weak spots. She moans and her fingers dig deep into his skin, when he hits her clit more intensely. He can practically feel her come and he enjoys how she keeps eye contact with him through it all. How she refuses to yield even though her body is betraying her. It feels so right to hold her in his arms, the way her chest moves and feels against him, when her breathing becomes heavy and erratic, the way her lower body starts to push against his. And he can feel his own arousal at her closeness, her body's readiness and wontedness to let him in.

'Hold on, dear,' he says and he lifts her up.

Hermione instinctively wraps her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist. He groans at the contact. If it isn't for these blasted clothes, he can already be inside of her. But alas … he has his arms full at the moment. Though … it may be nice to take her standing, but he needs some support to do that and the damn walls are all filled with books. Why did he need those again? He can't quite remember what there usefulness is at the moment. He is about to blast the walls clear, when inspiration strikes. The door!

'Collorportus,' he mutters with a small wave of his hand to the door, just before they slam into it. His forehead is leaning against the wood, while Hermione's back is pushed into it. His breathing has become rather rapid and shallow, and he definitely needs to relieve this blasted tension he is feeling inside of him now. He hits his forehead against the door several times. He needs to keep his wits about him. She needs to surrender first, otherwise he is in trouble. Lord Voldemort needs to be the one in control of this situation. But the blasted woman isn't saying anything.

'Come on, Granger,' he thinks. 'I'm still a man, granted an exceptional one, but even I can't keep this going forever.'

It's when his and her clothes are disappearing and reappearing on the desk. Voldemort is certain he hasn't done anything. Granger has cast them away. That counts as surrendering, doesn't it? He decides that it is good enough in his book. For he knows, that he will explode if he doesn't get any satisfaction soon. He blocks her upper body with his against the door as he moves his hands to her hips and trusts inside of her. Granger lets out a frustrated groan, when he holds himself there and savours how she feels around him. She is so deliciously tight. Voldemort moves his hands up to her breasts and he realises how perfectly they fit in his grasp. Hermione is holding on to him tightly and her legs are nicely wrapped around him. Why has he refrained himself from taking her again for more than a month now? He must be barking mad.

'Look at me,' he says intense, 'I want you to look at me all the way.'

There foreheads collide as he moves back and forth inside of her, slowly picking up the pace. And he stares into her beautiful eyes as she continues to make even more desperate, little sounds. She is his; his to have and hold; forever. He feels her hands caress his back, while her upper arms are leaning on his shoulders. So soft and delicate, he closes his eyes to bask in his moment of glory and he feels how she comes to completion around him as he spills himself inside of her. It's when he opens his eyes that he turns thoroughly cold, because for a moment he thinks he sees a rather calculative and victorious glint in Granger's eyes. Did that little witch just trick him? She couldn't have. He is certain she surrendered first. Yeah, he knows he is right. He looks at her again, but the glint is gone. He must have imagined it; maybe it was a trick of the light. Yes, that must be it. After all, this is supposed to be a beautiful day.

A swiftly cast spell cleans them both up and another one is responsible for their clothes returning back around their bodies. Granger is about to pass him, when he is suddenly certain for no reason at all that he had seen that triumphant glint correctly. He quickly grabs a hold of her from behind and pulls her tightly against him. A gasp escapes her lips, but he has already blocked her motor skills before she is able to do anything.

'Now, why do you all of the sudden appear so pleased with everything, Hermione,' he quietly says. 'You wouldn't have tried to trick me, now would you?'

Voldemort reminisces on the possibility for a moment. If she has tricked him, he needs to correct it straight away. He hears her deny the accusation somewhere in the back of his head, but he realises he can't leave it up to chance. He has to make certain he has not unwittingly surrendered himself to her. He finally remembers why he had not taken her before. He had been planning to wait, until she had completely submitted herself to him. Why has he deviated from that path? Oh well, there is no point in hindsight. He places his hands on her hips and whispers softly in her ear.

'Care to relinquish your hold over my body freely, Hermione?'

There is no reply. He smiles into her hair. 'Darling, I can make you very uncomfortable, and right now, you are unable to move. Hence, you can do nothing to stop me. It will be prudent for you to release me.'

'I don't think so,' he hears her say firmly. Damn, he judged her mood correctly after all.

'Torture me all you want,' she suggests.

'Because you can stand the Cruciatus Curse so well, dear, I'll think I'll have to say no to that useless idea,' he says calm and he hits her clit again with their magic. And he waits and waits, while he notices her perspiring and hears her cries becoming more vocal by the minute. 'How long can you stand this, Hermione? To be on the brink of a precipice, but never be allowed to fall into it. How long till your body screams in agony instead of delight? It must be murder to be unable to move a single muscle at the moment. I can't even begin to imagine how you must feel.'

'Screw you,' she says wrathful and he laughs out loud at the obvious despair that rings through those crude words.

'Release me and I will allow you a proper release, darling,' he offers smoothly. 'No? Well, I guess _I_ can wait.'

A flick of his hand and she is tossed into the couch. He strolls to the immobile witch and stares down into her flushed face. Slowly, he shakes his head. 'You won't win this, Hermione. I'm not going to allow you to spoil my wonderful day.'

'You can't keep up your concentration forever,' she hisses.

A casual gesture of his hand has a quick reward.

'Ooooohh.'

He plants his hands between her head on the back of the couch and leans forward. He already sees the first signs of discomfort in her eyes, while she still moans in delight.

'I'm betting I can keep this up longer than you can. And you know that I need to give up my hold over your body, before you can even think of attacking me. So give it up, Hermione, unless you are under the mistaken impression that an orgasm, which lasts for hours, is a pleasurable experience.'

He smiles at the fury in her eyes. This truly is fun. He should have tormented her like this sooner. Why hadn't he considered this before? She is so pretty with her flushed cheeks, while she makes those ecstatic, uncontrollable sounds at his handiwork. He places his hand between her legs and he sees the fear in her eyes. He enjoys her scream as he overloads every nerve down there.

'Do you like this feeling, Hermione? You want to relieve yourself, now don't you? You want to be able to move…'

But a knock on the door interrupts him. Lucius, perfect. He watches Granger smilingly. 'That is my ten o'clock appointment with Malfoy, darling.'

He can practically taste her disgust at the moment. 'I'm sure he is going to enjoy watching you like this.'

He tilts his head slightly and watches her meticulously. She is going to fold now. He knows she is. He has seen her memories of Malfoy and the derogatory remarks he made to her. She is not going to want to be beaten by Lucius Malfoy. She is going to choose to forfeit to him, which is, of course, far less demeaning.

'Let me go, now,' he orders shortly.

Another knock on the door.

'In … a … minute,' he grunts angrily at the door, but when he turns his attention back to Granger the most beautiful, silent tears are dropping down from her eyes. He leans in closely.

'You can't possibly hold this up indefinitely. Why lose your dignity over it, when it is all too clear you will surrender to me in the end?'

He has not tortured Granger in front of others before, because he doesn't want his Death Eaters to see her in a vulnerable state, but she needs to release her hold over him, now. Otherwise he will have no other choice, but to expose her like this. He looks at her again; he can tell she is weighing her options. All he needs to do now is provide her with an out and she'll fold.

'I can make it all go away, Hermione,' he whispers and he strokes her hair. 'All these symptoms and signs that can inform another about what you've just been through. I promise you, Lucius will never know.'

She is still debating the issue. 'Fine, on your head it is,' he says harsh and he turns away from her.

'No.'

He can barely hear the whispered word, but it's such an exquisite sound coming from her lips. He thrives on it as he slowly turns around. 'No?' he asks teasingly.

Her lip trembles, for she is having a hard time conceding to her loss. Voldemort can tell he needs to make her more comfortable or she may change her mind. And he is a forgiving Master after all. He sits down on the couch next to her. A wave of his hand and the stimulating feelings disappear.

'There, and I'll clean you up, Hermione,' he promises, reassuring her. 'All you have to do is say it.'

It's barely a nod, but he still sees it and he places his hand on her cheek. 'Repeat the following,' he orders. _'I, Hermione Jean Granger, will relinquish the body of …'_ he falters in his speech, because he realises the damn charm won't work unless he uses his given name. He is going to have to make her pay for making him say this later on. _'…Tom Marvolo Riddle back to his own mind and soul.'_

Hermione blinks and frowns for a second.

'Come on woman, it's not such a difficult sentence. You don't want to make me repeat that despicable name again,' he thinks cross.

Fortunately, she has come to her senses and repeats his words. _'I, Hermione Jean Granger, will relinquish the body of…'_ Did she just smirk there for a moment? _'…Tom Marvolo Riddle…'_ Yes, the sheer emphasis is telling him, she is definitely having fun at his expense now. Oh, he is so going to relish punishing her for that. _'…back to his own mind and soul,'_ she finishes. And he notes she bites her lip and glances sideways, when she is done. She is clearly not pleased about having to forfeit this.

It's when Lord Voldemort feels the control returning back to him. He can't believe he actually missed noticing that it was drawn from him. He will never, ever let his guard down around that sneaky, little Gryffindor ever again. Perhaps she should have been sorted into Slytherin after all. He smiles down at her and he sees her flash of concern as she considers he may not hold up his end of the bargain, but he is not that foolish. A wave of his hand cleans her up and another wave enables her to move again. She sighs relieved and pushes herself into a more seated position.

Voldemort summons the book he wants her to read and pushes it back into her hands. Like yesterday, and the days before that, it is folded open on page one. He sees the amused quirk of her eyebrow, but he is certain that she will not be able to keep up her resistance to reading it indefinite. She has already glanced at a few words. The book told him that much. She has to be dying to know what is on those pages. He knows he would be. She is just being foolish again. Testing him, when she knows he will beat her in the end. Well, he can wait. Once he has her parents, she will do whatever he asks of her anyway. It truly is a victorious day.

'Come in, Lucius,' Voldemort says impatient, while he gets out of the couch and moves back to sit behind his desk.

He shakes his head in amusement, when he sees Granger is demonstratively watching in another direction as the book is lying in. 'Whatever works for you dear,' he thinks snorting, 'but looking elsewhere won't make the temptation go away.'

On the contrary, it merely shows him the seduction of the book is already making it difficult for her to look in its direction and refrain from reading it. The few words she has, no doubt, read accidentally, have thus far began to enthral and fascinate her severely. There is no escaping it in the end; she will fold. It is only a matter of time. He is after all the most powerful wizard of all time and he, surely, has much more experience than her in dealing with everything that's magical. And Lord Voldemort has to admit he kind of enjoys her silly stand altogether. It's rather endearing and it alleviates the boring routine he became accustomed too. Actually, if he is truly honest with himself, then, he'd have to say, he hasn't had this much fun in ages. He smirks and his eyes glint with pleasure. Stubborn, little one.

Some nervous ruffling of clothes on the other side of his desk brings his attention back to the task at hand; Lucius. He is irrefutably going to be more bored than if he had to listen to Gilderoy Lockheart drawl on about his achievements in the diverse fields of Wizardry. A yawn escapes him as Malfoy reports on a number of totally unimportant matters. There was some silly attempt oversea to kill his appointed Prime Minister in Belgium. Some moronic witch in the Netherlands thought she could mix Bubotuber pus with Daffodils and Tulips and by doing so she blew up more than half of her equally dumb country. But he felt truly sorry for the witch in Sweden who tried to charm her bike so she could go ice-skating on it. He wished he had been there to catch her, when she fell. Hmmm… Swedish women. He definitely needs to make a trip abroad soon. A wonderful daydream starts to cloud his mind as he hears Lucius whine some more about some monk who left his monastery. Really, like he needs to hear about other people's travel plans, unless of course they are the plans of Scandinavian...

'And Sloan reports back that he has told the U.S. Aurors that they are, so to speak, fired,' says Lucius, finally ending his rant and shaking him out of his stupor.

Hallelujah, he has survived it again. And even better, Sloan got rid of some annoying Americans for him. This surely is without a doubt the best day of his life. He smiles at Granger, who has turned her attention to Malfoy and him. Certainly, she can't be interested in anything his Death Eater just told him? Pfftt… maybe he needs to re-evaluate her intelligence. He sees her look slightly puzzled at him and she raises her eyebrows and smirks, before eyeing the wall on the opposite site of the couch once more. Now, what was that for? She has heard reports of killings before and she has never showed this much interest in it.

'If that is all, Malfoy, then you are excused,' Voldemort says, while he stares intrigued into Granger's direction and he waves to the door dismissively.

It's when he suddenly notices that Malfoy is not moving. Instead, the man is staring at him rather anxiously. Does he need to spell it out for him? Gosh, he is beginning to consider killing the bloke nevertheless for his continued presence alone. He needs to find out what Granger was so interested in and he can't use his bleeding Death Eater around, when he questions her.

'Do I need to _explain_ the concept of "you are excused" to you, Lucius?' he asks ever so sweetly and kind. It pleases him sincerely that his tone unnerves the pureblood extremely.

'No, no, Master. It's just…'

'Just what?' he adds in the same demeanour.

They say luck favours the prepared, but he is so not ready for the response from Malfoy.

'You haven't given me an order concerning the Knight of Silence,' Lucius says scared.

Furiously, his eyes dart to Granger, who is now definitely watching the exchange between him and Lucius with an inquiring mind.

'What Knight?' he hisses underneath his breath and his eyes narrow tremendously.

'The monk from the Tibetan monastery, who has…,' Lucius starts dead frightened.

'I understood you the first time, you idiot. I'm inquiring to the monk's identity,' he interrupts Lucius furious.

Lucius shifts on his feet again and his pale, grey eyes are darting left and right, searching for an escape route.

'Don't tell me, you have no idea which one of those mumbling, nature loving, fairytale dwellers has found a reason to leave their precious and sacred home!' Voldemort yells and Lucius jerks as he rams with his fist on the desk.

'The Tibetan Office has sent me a picture, Master,' Lucius whispers meek.

'Show me,' he orders and he holds out his hand.

A trembling hand offers him the picture. Voldemort snatches it away and glares down at the very familiar face that is smiling and waving at him. It makes him feel ferocious, wrathful. He feels the need to kill someone, preferably the stupid fool in the picture. He is absolutely certain that chocolate pie loving moron has never left the monastery before in his life. Besides, it is some sort of cockamamie tradition that the Lead Knight always remains within the compounds of the premises. And they never break with their absurd customs, never! So why start now?

'Where is he?' he asks Lucius, but his eyes remain on the picture.

The loony monk is mocking him. He knows he is right about that. He crumbles the photograph in his fist and glares back at Lucius.

'Well, what's keeping you? Answer the bleeding question!' he howls.

'The Aurors lost track of him,' Lucius says barely audible and the pureblood closes his eyes waiting for the inevitable impact of the curse.

His wand has already made it to his hand, but a snort comes from the couch, followed by a couple of uncontrolled hiccoughs, and finally, Granger starts to roar with laughter. He glares in fury at the girl who is desperately clutching on to her belly, because her guffawing is beginning to cause her muscles to cramp. His knuckles turn white from clutching on to his wand and he moves around the desk slowly, advancing on the wretched woman who has the nerve to laugh into his face. Malfoy scatters backwards bowing in terror, and Voldemort turns briefly toward the idiot to inform him that he needs to find the whereabouts of the blasted monk a.s.a.p. if he values his continued existence.

'Now, get out of my sight!' he snarls. 'And don't feel obligated to return to me, until you can tell me where he is!'

Malfoy starts running to the door, but he is not out fast enough too Voldemort's liking. So he decides to help Lucius move a bit faster by blasting the pureblood right through the wall. Granger, who had just regained control of her senses, starts to lose it again as Lucius plummets spread-eagled through the wall, leaving a nicely Malfoy shaped hole in his wake. Even the cane can be made out in the wall, since the fool clearly couldn't part with the vain accessory. Voldemort swirls around and pushes his wand in Hermione's hiccoughing throat. That catches her attention and halts her dim-witted snickering.

'Crucio,' he whispers ruthless, using her own magic as a conduit to hit her with his as well.

He hasn't tried that before with the Cruciatus Curse and the effects are magnificent. That'll teach her. And he will show her, and anyone else, who has the nerve to spoil what is supposed to be an excellent day, that he will not be trifled with. He lowers his wand. The girl is cowering up on the floor before him; wonderful.

'Did you think I am going to sit back while you laugh in my face?' he hisses, 'Crucio!'

And he circles her, before halting the torture.

'Do you expect him to come to your rescue now, Hermione? Do you think Yoda cares?' he says mocking, but she does not respond. 'He knew it all, but he did not prepare you for it, did he? All the Knights care about is their precious believe system and maybe they'll make an exception for some stupid ant that crawls on the ground, but he won't be coming for you, dear.'

'I never said he would,' Granger replies panting. 'Those are your own delusional conclusions.'

'Crucio!'

Her screams fill the air around him once more and he rather enjoys it at the moment. He is savouring every ounce of wrath he feels towards the monk and he is channelling it all at Granger. She will pay dearly for everything and everyone that has been bothering him. It turns silent. In shock, he lowers his wand. He hasn't overdone it, has he? He drops down beside her and grabs her chin to take a look in her eyes. Relieve floods him as he sees she is still there, and he sighs. It is foolish of him to think Lord Voldemort will make a beginners error like that.

'I'm going to find that teacher of yours, Granger, and then, I am going to kill him,' he informs her.

'Good luck,' she mutters, exhausted.

It amazes him how she is still defiant despite the ordeal she just went through and he smiles.

'Maybe you are not completely in on the loop here, Hermione, but those Knights aren't nearly as impressive when they are outside on their own. Sure, they have a gigantic blabbermouth about love and peace and other despicable concepts, but they do it all from within the safety of the confinement of their precious building. Where they can all work magic together as one. They won't dare attack me on neutral ground. They know I will pulverise them.'

A knock on the door interrupts Granger who is about to respond to his statements. Lord Voldemort gets back on his feet and tells Lucius to enter, but it turns out to be Bellatrix Lestrange. Apparently, Lucius doesn't dare to grace him with his presence again or maybe he simply is unable to. That idea is rather satisfying and he smirks demoniacally. Bella kneels down, despite her now humongous belly, which is due to deliver another Lestrange brat any minute these days.

'Master,' she says, making a small bow with her head.

Voldemort thinks it is probably the only part of her body that can still make a forward motion. An irritated, small gesture of his hand beckons her up.

'What is it, Bella?' he replies disturbed, when he sees her struggle to get back on her feet. It's a good thing he _'helped out'_ Rodolphus. This will be the last time he has to witness this weakness.

'We don't understand how he passed the wards, my Lord.'

Voldemort sighs. This will be, undoubtedly, another massive screw up from his so called dangerous followers. He sees Bella's dark eyes dart anxiously to the left. Wow, that must be some blunder, if _she_ is nervous about it. Why does he always have to do everything himself, if he wants it done correctly? Can't they handle the simplest of tasks?

'Who passed which wards where and why?' he asks quietly.

It remains ever so silent. He notices Hermione is frowning at Lestrange unusual behaviour too. And this was such a nice day. He should have never let those dolts near his residence or near any other place for that matter. He should have killed them all.

'Will you get on with it, Bella,' Voldemort says impatient and a hint of danger becomes ever so eminent in his voice.

Bella has spotted it and is now wiggling on her feet. Pathetic, really pathetic.

'There is a visitor downstairs waiting in the Great Hall and he demands an audience with you, my Lord,' she whispers.

'Demands?' he asks softly. 'And who may be foolish enough to enter my domain and demand things?'

Upon hearing the answer, Lord Voldemort throws a right, little tantrum, which to his utmost revulsion makes him witness Bellatrix's water break. And it was supposed to be a wonderful, beautiful and victorious day for the Dark Lord. Nothing was going to anger him today, nothing. He guesses he was mistaken, because today is beginning to feel like it has the makings to become the worst day of his life.


	14. Chapter 14

**Spoilers:** All Harry Potter books, including Deathly Hallows.

 **Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. And as always: the song text is not mine either.

 **Author's note:** Hermione's POV.

* * *

**The Bittersweet Taste of Victory**

_Did I disappoint you?_

_Or leave a bad taste in your mouth?_

_You act like you never had love_

_And you want me to go without_

_Well it's too late_

_Tonight_

_To drag the past out_

_Into the light_

_We're one_

_But we're not the same_

_We get to carry each other_

_Carry each other_

_One_

U2, One

**Chapter fourteen**

This day is getting more and more ridiculous by the minute. I can't help to think that as I see Voldemort lose it completely, when the bitch from Azkaban goes into labour. And I watch in astonishment as the most feared wizard of all time swirls out of is own study chamber due to Lestrange's inconvenient timing. I have to bite my lip real hard to prevent myself from laughing out loud again. And so I stand there, doing nothing besides trying to keep my composure, while Bella huffs and puffs on the floor. She is quick. I gotta hand her that. Though I don't think right now that is a plus. It may have been wiser for her to get up and deliver this baby anywhere else, because somehow I find it hard to believe Voldemort is a baby person.

I have to admit it's one of the scariest things I can ever imagine: Bellatrix Lestrange raising children. Ugh. I am kind of wondering why though. She never struck me as the maternal type. Maybe she did it, because Voldemort ordered her and Rodolphus to have children. Yuck. I won't put it past him. And she is blinded and devoted enough to follow his commands wherever he leads her; nutcase. But I find it more likely that she is having children in order to get on Voldemort's good side by showing him, she is adding members into his precious pureblood society. If that is the reason, may I recommend to anyone, who feels the desire to follow her lead, not to actually perform the task in front of him; I sincerely doubt she scored bonus points here.

The door flies open and an utterly white faced Rodolphus Lestrange enters quickly. What is it with men and labour? But upon seeing him clutch onto his back rather painfully, I consider he may be pale for another reason. It looks like he just got Crucio-ed by the Dark Lord, because his wife had the gall to give birth in front of him. He runs to Bella and tries to hoist her up. I wrinkle my forehead at this display of foolishness, because I doubt that is going to work. Why doesn't he use magic?

'Get your hands of me, Rodolphus,' Bella hisses.

'We've got to go, Bella. The Dark Lord is furious,' says Rodolphus desperate after he has let go of his attempts to lift his wife, because she struck him in his loin.

I see his hands swing back to his spine, like he is pregnant himself. I have vivid memories how my back felt after Voldemort was done with exhibiting his expertise at the Cruciatus Curse and it is not a pleasant feeling; not pleasant at all. He is bending over Bellatrix again and this time she tries to get up also and they stagger upwards. My eyes widen when I notice the disaster occurring. They lose their footing and fall straight toward me. I catch them more on reflex than anything else. Besides, it's not the child's fault, it has horrible parents. And I can't let a pregnant woman fall, can I?

'Get your filthy paws of me, Mudblood.'

Hmm… perhaps I can. And I throw my arms in the air and step backwards to watch them plummet to the ground, but just before they are about to hit the floor, they hover in midair.

'What are you two doing?' sneers Lucius Malfoy. His wand is pointing firmly to the two Lestranges.

'The Dark Lord wants her out of here,' replies Rodolphus hasty as Lucius lowers them onto the ground.

'That still doesn't explain what you two were doing. Why are you trying to hoist your wife the muggle way, Rodolphus? Don't tell me that Mudblood is rubbing of on you.'

'The Dark Lord has broken my wand,' replies Rodolphus, obviously annoyed that he has to share that information with Lucius in front of me.

I snort loudly, because one can take that statement in so many ways, and all of them are rather entertaining. The three of them glare at me, so I just have to say something, don't I?

'Wand or no wand, I doubt it matters,' I sneer. 'You would have to resort to muggle methods anyway. I've seen you try to levitate stuff before. It was a rather amusing sight.'

Rodolphus turns red with fury and steps in my direction, but Malfoy halts him. 'Just ignore her, she is a mere Mudblood, not worthy of existence,' he snarls.

'Oh, such witty repartee,' I say back sarcastically, 'and such a true testament to the originality of your cognitive skills. Surely, Lucius, by now that one brain cell of yours must be able to come up with other far more creative and insulting words.'

'Hold your tongue or I'll cut it out,' Bella hisses furious in between contractions.

Now, we're getting somewhere. My eyes dart to the door. Voldemort is still gone; maybe I can aggravate these idiots enough to do me a huge favour and help me test my theory.

'You think you can reach it over that humongous belly?' I ask snorting. 'Too bad your kid will share your genetic disposition. Otherwise you may finally get someone in the house who can actually make two viable thoughts in a row.'

'Why you,' hisses Rodolphus and he steps forward menacingly, but gets blasted back by Lucius.

For a moment I am disappointed, because Malfoy seems to keep his common sense by not allowing the others to attack me, but when he opens his mouth I practically want to jump in triumph.

'I got this one, Rodolphus,' Lucius says and he points his wand at me. 'The Dark Lord won't mind, if I teach her to respect her superiors.'

I mockingly look around the room. 'See any?' I ask tauntingly.

'Crucio!' shouts Lucius.

I see the jet of light fly towards me and brace myself for the inevitable impact. Lucius' curse hits me dead on, and oh … my … god, my theory is proven right. I don't feel a single thing. Oh, they are in deep shit now. They have no idea how much, but Lucius is so dead. His wand lowers and he is watching me confused, while Bella snorts. 'You always were lousy at it, Malfoy. The girl is used to a bit more force behind that spell. Why don't you allow us to take it from here? Let my husband show you how it's done.'

Oh, I can't possibly be this lucky. I am, because Rodolphus snatches Lucius' wand away from him and is now approaching me with a vile smile on his face. I merely stare at him with what must be an annoyingly, irritating smug expression. Well, I wouldn't want him to hold back now, would I?

'Crucio!' he whispers.

And as he keeps the curse on me, I give him a joyous, triumphant wink. Rodolphus' eyes narrow in fury and he puts all the force he has into the curse. I can tell because I can feel the magic flow past me and head towards the actual target he is hitting at the moment. Too bad for them they have no idea.

'Is that all you purebloods can do?' I say smug. 'I guess they weren't wrong when they said magical genes were deteriorating among you lot.'

'It must be the wand,' Rodolphus says, watching it disgusted, before he tosses it back to Malfoy, 'hand me yours, Bella.'

Oh goody, he is going to try again. I wonder if I can get them to perform the Killing Curse. That will solve all my problems in a blink of an eye.

'I doubt it's the wand, Lestrange,' I say, watching him point Bella's at me, 'I don't think you can make anyone scream.'

'Crucio!' he casts again; the fool.

'Nope, nadda, nothing,' I say smiling.

Rodolphus' head is red and he is pumped up in fury. He flashes his wife's wand around and I can't believe my luck, when I hear him speak: 'Avada Ke…'

But I close my eyes in utter disappointment when Rodolphus gets hit by something a lot more powerful than his own spell and the sheer force of that curse blasts him right through the outer wall and he plummets to his death. The two remaining Death Eaters become fearfully silent, when they see their Master standing in the doorway eyeing them absolutely ferocious. His cloak is bellowing around him and his snakelike features are gazing intensely at the two others in the room.

'Which part of my previous lesson did you all miss?' he says softly.

I recognise that tone. He is at his most dangerous when he speaks in that calm, collective and quiet manner, but then again, he just got Crucio-ed by his dim-witted followers. I've got to hand it to him; he is not showing any outward signs of it. It's quite astonishing that he isn't, actually, because Rodolphus placed pretty much all his considerable skills and power in that curse. The curse that Voldemort himself made the Lestranges experts in. I grin, briefly, at the irony, but I don't move. No need to draw attention to myself when he is aggravated with them.

'That Mudblood said,' Bellatrix says, screwing up my invisibility routine, but she halts when Voldemort holds up his hand.

His red eyes dart toward me for a moment, but then his pitiless stare returns to monitor Malfoy and Lestrange. And he starts to advance on them in a slow, threatening, yet graceful manner. Am I mistaken? Did that curse hit him or what? He really doesn't seem to have any of the normal physical discomforting after-effects.

'Why are you still here, Bella? I told your husband to go and collect you, but instead, he decides to curse my property? After my explicit orders to leave the girl alone?' Voldemort says menacingly and he turns his attention to Malfoy. 'Care to explain yourself, Lucius?'

'It was all Rodolphus, Master. We tried to stop him.'

'Don't lie to me, Malfoy. You'll only embarrass yourself with your pathetic skills at Occlumency.' And Voldemort takes a step into the direction of the last Malfoy still alive. 'Did you try to curse the girl, Lucius?' he enquires ever so quietly.

'Master, please forgive me … please, she… AAHHHH!' And Lucius plummets to the ground twitching and writhing in a manner that isn't supposed to be possible.

'Did you too feel the need to disobey me? To disrespect my orders?'

No, no, Master, please… the girl tricked… AHHHH!'

'Get out, the both of you!'

Lucius wants to race for the door again, but it slams shut before he is through it and I see the utmost fear in Malfoy's grey eyes as he turns around to face Voldemort.

'Take her with you, Malfoy,' Voldemort says and he points at Bella dismissively, 'and when you're done, go downstairs and escort our guest in.'

The guest. I totally forgot about the elf being here due to the stupid Death Eaters. I wonder what Maglor wants. The Amulet of Aine strikes me as a valid possibility, since it is their property, but I don't dare to get my hope up. Even though Voldemort's fury at hearing the identity of the guest makes me believe he is thinking the same thing. After all, he can't possibly afford to start a conflict with Everon. At least not with idiot followers like these, because I can assure you, they are no match for the elves.

'Yes Master, thank you Master.'

'And Malfoy…'

'Yes, my Lord,' Malfoy says bowing once more.

'No more of these screw ups. I won't be so forgiving next time around.'

'Yes, my Lord. I won't disappoint you again. Thank you for showing me the right path, Master,' Lucius says grovelling on the floor.

'Oh the joy of being a Death Eater,' I can't help but think sarcastically. 'There really should be a health warning label on that job.

And Voldemort watches Lucius levitate Bellatrix Lestrange out of his quarters. A quick cleansing charm clears up any of the labour mess she left behind and he swirls around to undo the damage to the outer wall he just blasted Rodolphus through.

'You're going to run out of purebloods, if you keep this up,' I say smirking.

For a split-second, Voldemort interrupts his casting at the wall, but he continues without acknowledging my remark. Now, that won't do. I know I am being reckless, especially if he had just gotten Crucio-ed, but I can't tell whether he has or not. So I need him to confirm my bloody suspicions. I have to be certain I am right. If he didn't get hit by Lestrange's curse, then all my theories are wrong and I have to start from scratch, but I remember Merlin's text and Voldemort's words and there is something else. Something Yoda told me a long time ago. I am sure Voldemort is unaware off that or has deemed it to be rubbish. I can't let it slip to him or he will take so many precautions that I'll never be able to use it to my advantage, but I need to know the truth. And the only way for me to get him to inform me about what happened, is to get him into a reckless, talkative mood. In those moments, he lets things slip he shouldn't. Unfortunately, that means he has to get pissed off first, but that I can do; easily.

'Just how many of them have you killed, since you gained power? Because from where I am standing, there seem to be less and less of them around, instead of those you deem are unworthy of existence. What are you going to do, once you've killed them all for upsetting your feeble constitution? Fake some new bloodlines? Pretend halfbloods are purebloods? Oh no… my mistake, that's not a new strategy. You're already doing that, aren't you Riddle?'

With a blinding flash the rest of the wall reappears in place and I see Voldemort's knuckles turn white around his wand. It's only a matter of seconds now. Just one little push and he goes over the edge; one little push. Come on, I must be able to think of something to aggravate him with.

'So you think Maglor Silimaurë is here to claim the Amulet of Aine?' I state triumphant, thinking I've found the right button to push.

He swirls around and looks at me calculatedly. Wrong expression. Damn. Slowly, he moves toward me and my breath hitches in my throat. This isn't going to work. He is angry, but not angry enough to lose it completely. A smirk graces his marble white features and his crimson eyes sparkle with something I can't quite identify. Oh bugger; me and my big mouth. However, it's too late to back down now, so I fold my arms over each other and smirk back with what I hope to be a hugely annoying smug expression.

'Are you truly so naïve to think you've got something to gain from a conflict between Everon and myself, dearest?' Voldemort asks sweetly, completely ignoring my bloodline-taunts.

I raise my eyebrows in response and keep up the hopefully irritating smile, even though it is beginning to hurt my jaw.

'Any conflict that involves you is something I gain by,' I respond in an equally sweet tone of voice. Come on man, get pissed and talkative. Crucio me, and starts chatting as you always do.

'You seem to fail to realise that I now have you on my side. It will be advisable for the elves to remain on their normal and neutral ground or they will leave me with no other choice, but to use our combined force to obliterate them all. How are you going to feel, Hermione, knowing your magic will become responsible for the annihilation of an entire species?'

I narrow my eyes at him, but that taunting voice tells me I still have a shot to obtain the info I need. I decide to keep him talking by responding to that question. 'I will feel horrific, but I will know it was your doing, and your doing alone. There really is no point in trying to make me feel guilty over the atrocities you commit.'

'My doing alone, when a third party can easily establish your magic present at the scene?' Voldemort drawls softly. 'But I guess you really have nothing to worry about, I think they will see to reason, don't you?' he adds smiling, halting before me and caressing my cheek. 'Elves are after all known for their intelligence or so I am told.'

'Yes, elves are the smartest creatures I ever met. Other people, on the other hand, are getting granted for abilities, which they did not earn,' I say mocking, but he merely laughs at me and pulls me toward him around my waist.

This is so not going as I expected. Lord Voldemort is reacting totally different as I was counting on him to react. Why does he feel the need to become unpredictable all of the sudden? Normally, it only took me a few taunts to get him to curse me. What is holding him back now?

'You can be really entertaining to have around, Hermione,' he says, holding me close with one arm, while his other is moving upwards to stroke my hair. 'Really entertaining.'

'I am not here for your pleasure,' I snarl.

He tilts his head. 'No, you being here is so much more than mere pleasure,' he replies softly and he grabs a hold of my head and crushes his lips on mine.

I am never going to get to the bottom of what happened is all I can think, when his tongue enters my mouth and devours me. I can't help but respond to that all consuming kiss of his. He may be an evil, overbearing, nutjob of a total fruitcake in the making, but he sure knows how to kiss someone. It's not just our compatible magic here, because really, even without it, wow. And I am so not thinking that. I practically want to hit myself in the head for thinking that. God, now I am going bonkers as well. It must be contagious. I have contracted Bellaritis.

Sparks are flashing before my eyes, while we kiss, and…

… _I drop Bellatrix and Rodolphus…_

… _I am taunting them and Lucius performs the Cruciatus Curse…_

… _Rodolphus snatches Lucius' wand away and Crucios me too, while I wink at him…_

… _Rodolphus is watching the wand in his hand in disgust and demands Bella's, but I tell him it is pointless, because I doubt he can make anyone scream…_

And rather abruptly, Voldemort is out of my mind and I can feel his smile inside my mouth. I am breathless and I can feel I am perspiring severely. I so did not see that one coming, that devious, no good, rotten snake. I gasp as he pulls my head backward roughly.

'So you want someone to make you scream, darling,' Voldemort says triumphant, 'I think, I may be able to accommodate you there.'

A knock on the door interrupts him and he coaxes me back onto the couch. 'Behave dearest,' he says softly as he drops the book back in my lap, 'or I will feel obliged to kill several eleven year olds at the sorting ceremony tonight. And you will get the pleasure of choosing the unlucky ones, because you will be there. You may even say you are the guest of honour.'

And he laughs loudly at my confusion, while he tells the parties outside to enter. He turns away from the door and for a brief moment he watches me victorious and leans forward to whisper something in my ear. 'By the way, you're quite right; Rodolphus never was any good at making someone scream. You should have gotten Bella to administer the Cruciatus Curse; hers I might actually have had a problem with in blocking.'

A vile smile is cast in my direction, before he stalks back to his desk leaving me absolutely mystified. He just answered my question, when I no longer expected him too. I am so going to make him regret underestimating me in that manner. So the curse did hit him. And I am right; he is making a huge mistake by continuously drawing on my magic. I can't believe he is just casting away the event like it means nothing. The only reason he got hit, instead of me, is because he insists on using our compatible magic as a one-way-street. It forms and enables the direct pathway to him to remain there; meaning right now, no one beside Voldemort can actually curse me. Any other can try, but the only one they are going to hit is him. Too bad I am surrounded by weaklings and muttering magical idiots who can barely cast a decent spell. It's probably why he isn't concerned in the slightest, but still… it's something that I hold over him. It's not much, but it is a start.

Maglor Silimaurë enters the room behind Lucius, but he is a far more impressive personality to enter, so I notice that he captures Voldemort's attention easily and Lucius is quickly discarded, after he has introduced the elf to Lord Voldemort and vice versa. Though, I don't think Malfoy is insulted or sorry to be excused. He seems rather relieved to me, while he is hurrying out of the study; probably trying to get as much distance between himself and the Dark Lord after everything that transpired today.

Maglor, on the other hand, stands tall in the centre of the room, like the universe revolves around him. His long dark hair falls charmingly across his delicate features and he is wearing the robes of an elf on a diplomatic mission. The colours are indescribably beautiful and they bring out his emerald green eyes, which are shining brightly. The light fabric flows across him like nature itself and it makes him seem more regal than any royalty I have ever seen on television.

'Miss Hermione, good to see you again,' he says ever so calm and he gives me a courteous nod.

'Hello, Maglor,' I respond briefly.

I can see Voldemort monitoring the exchange with suspicion and I wouldn't have chosen to divulge the fact that I knew Maglor to him out of fear for the elf's safety. However, Maglor seems to not care in the slightest and starts of by dropping the bomb.

'It has to come to the attention of the elves that the Amulet of Aine is currently located in the United Kingdom,' Silimaurë says in a high-and-mighty attitude. 'We would like to inform his lordship that the Amulet is and always will be the property of the elves and as such we do not relinquish our claim on said item.'

Oh boy. This is not going to be pretty.

'I see,' Voldemort responds quietly and he folds his arms over each other. 'And?' he adds sweetly, but I already feel him beginning to drain more of my magic.

'However, we feel that it will be in the best interest of all parties concerned, if we can come to an understanding that the item in question will be returned to us after its use. We've heard you have been looking for the Amulet in person and we are not intolerably blind to the need you may have for the powers inside of it.'

He must be joking. This is an elf's pun. It has to be. However, Voldemort stops his drain on my magical powers and is watching Maglor Silimaurë with considerable interest.

'And what will this understanding entail according to Everon?' Voldemort asks, slightly more at ease with the situation, and he sits down in his chair behind the desk. Having obviously decided there is no more need for immediate alarm.

'The Elves are willing to lend the Amulet of Aine to you, Lord Voldemort, if you grant us your word to return it to our care once it is of no more use to you,' Maglor says smug.

The corner of Voldemort's mouth twitches upwards. He definitely has no problems with this arrangement. I can see why. Gosh, I have never heard such a foolish phrasing before. Once it is of no more use to you? Please, couldn't they have at least stipulated a term more concrete? In this manner he can hold on to the damn Amulet indefinite. It's a good thing he doesn't have it though. It's also what Voldemort decides to bring to the table. And it is when I practically choke on hearing Maglor response.

'We can locate it for you easily, if you agree to our terms,' Maglor says calm.

'You are willing and able to find the Amulet for me?' Voldemort replies and he is no longer able to hide his greed.

I can see the sheer glee on Voldemort's features as I watch them both in utter shock. Maglor better be kidding me. Don't these elves have any idea to what lengths I went to keep this item away from Voldemort? He will be able to heal his soul, but he only wants to do that in order to tear it apart again, so he can regain his precious immortality. The man needs some serious mental health care, not help in recreating his Horcruxes.

'Yes, I am and I can. Any elf on the planet can scry for an item made by us. It will only be a matter of days, before I find it. If the Amulet truly is present within the confinement of this nation,' Maglor states rather haughty.

Gosh, those elves are bloody enablers. I can't believe Maglor of all elves is here helping Lord Voldemort in his immortality quest. With the Amulet that itchy, bitty, tiny piece of his soul that is left…

'Wait a second,' I think, as a sentence Voldemort made me speak this morning comes back into my mind.

_I_ _, Hermione Jean Granger, will relinquish the body of Tom Marvolo Riddle back to his own mind and soul._

Just exactly how does that work when there isn't much soul to relinquish it back to? I can't believe I had not considered this before. He made seven Horcruxes. Seven! That means splitting his soul in half for number one. Then, splitting that half again, making only twenty-five percent of his soul remain inside of him for number two. Three makes twelve-and-a-half percent; four makes around six percent; five leaves him with three percent; the sixth Horcrux with one-and-a-half percent; the seventh and last one with less than one percent.

There is less than one percent of his soul present inside his body at the moment! There is just no way that the chant worked properly under those circumstances! No way! I have to refrain myself from jumping up and down on the couch in sheer excitement. Fortunately, Voldemort is far to engaged with Maglor to notice my sudden change in demeanour. One percent of a soul holds on to his body … I must be able to snatch the control over it back from such an instable and feeble origin. I need to find a way to do this secretively and fast, before Maglor hands him the damn Amulet and his soul starts to regain its original form. Why haven't I thought of this sooner? Somehow, I have to find a way to not fall asleep before he does tonight. I may be able to do something unnoticed then.

I sit deeply contemplating on this, when a hand comes to rest on my shoulder. I jerk in fright and a satisfied smile is Voldemort's only answer. He moves my legs on the couch with a fluent move of his hand and sits down next to them, facing me. I notice Maglor has left already. I haven't even observed him leaving! I really need to pay attention to my surroundings. Voldemort's hand is now resting on my thigh and I've seen that glint in those slit-pupil eyes before. It's predatory and greedy, like he wants to swallow me whole. His left hand cups my cheek around my jaw line and he caresses my face gently, while staring at me with such intensity that it unnerves me greatly. Still, he does not speak. And I have nothing I want to share with him in particular, so it remains silent. It's a tense silence, not a comfortable one. At least to me it isn't. He rubs his thumb across my lips, while his other hand squeezes my thigh.

'Now, I recall you complaining to Rodolphus that he wasn't able to make you scream, Hermione,' he says smirking.

I glare back, but I won't satisfy him by answering and by doing so playing along with whatever despicable game he is trying to engage me in at the moment. He takes the book out of my hands and starts to click disapprovingly with his tongue upon seeing it's still on page one.

'You will read it eventually, Hermione. Why continue this foolish resistance?' he says ever so smoothly. 'I have seen your eyes investigate the other titles on the shelves. You've been curious about the knowledge inside. Yet, you hold yourself back from obtaining it. And while you've been reading those spines, you could have read this fine book in your lap. A book I generously allowed you to get acquainted with.'

The snort escapes me. And he places the book on the coffee table and takes a hold of me with both hands. 'I always get what I want, Hermione, one way or the other. Surely you must realise that by now. The Amulet, you.'

'I am not yours,' I interrupt him, breaking my own resolution not to play his game, but I feel I can't just let this pass.

'Not yet, but you will be. It's only a matter of time. Tonight is the sorting ceremony and you will join me there, so I can show the Wizarding World who you belong to.'

'You mean so you can lie to everyone.'

'It doesn't have to be a lie, Hermione. Join me.'

'You're delusional.'

'And you're delusional if you think this resistance will get you anywhere. I am offering you the world. Isn't that good enough for you?'

'If you leave it first,' I reply cheeky.

A pitying glance and a condescending smile is the response he gives me. 'Soon the Amulet of Aine will be in my possession, dearest, and once I am immortal again I will be invincible.'

'And then what?' I sneer. 'You're already bored out of your mind in this mortal life you now lead. What will you do with all that extra time? When every question, every mystery is answered? When there are no more challenges left to face?'

'The biggest challenge in life is to conquer death,' Voldemort says and the passion shines through his entire demeanour on stating his lifelong ambition.

'And what after you've dealt with this silly challenge? After you've conquered the one thing that can alleviate your life when there isn't anything interesting in it anymore? Because without any challenges left one is better of dead,' I say thoughtful.

'I will never be bored, Hermione, but I don't expect you to understand a quest for …'

'Really? So these pathetic games you try to play with me are not a clear sign of boredom already?'

'You think that I am indulging you out of sport? I want something a lot more tangible from you, my darling. And mark my words, I never quit until I obtain what I want.'

'So you want someone who could be your granddaughter,' I say mocking.

Voldemort smirks and leans in towards me. I suddenly feel the couch in my back and realise I am pressing myself against it in a, no doubt, futile attempt to get away from him. We are so close now, I can feel his breath on my skin and he pulls his arms around me. Oh no, not again. He moves his head to my ear and kisses me beneath it softly.

'But you aren't,' he whispers. 'Beside you will be bored yourself with someone your own age, Hermione. Admit it.'

I will do no such thing. 'You killed everyone in my age that I knew and cared about. I would never have been bored with Ron,' I say certain, trying hard not to respond to his assaults on my throat.

He snickers against my skin. 'Oh please, who are you kidding? I can just see you two as a married couple,' he says between kisses. 'After some, no doubt, extremely short time of marriage, Weasley would have been driven you up the walls screaming, because all he would talk about is the next Quidditch try-out match you needed to go see.'

'That remark only shows me how little you knew of Ron,' I reply disdainful.

'I've seen everything that was inside that small mind of his,' he responds vicious. 'Trust me, Hermione, there wasn't much more in it than Quidditch. You can thank me for saving you from a lifetime of boredom.'

'I wouldn't expect you to understand friendship, kindness or love.'

'Still in denial, are you? Perhaps …' and he stops talking and watches me smilingly. 'Perhaps I shall show you your little Ron error?' he asks lightly as his hands take a hold of my head again.

And the next second images are flashing through my mind. Memories, that clearly aren't mine and sometimes are, but now I see them from a different angle. And I realise it is Ron's view on the world I am watching. Everything Lord Voldemort retrieved from his mind while he was using Leglimency on him. And it is a lot to witness and most of it contains me, while the rest is Harry and his family. I have never before seen myself so many times. I had never realised how many glances Ron threw in my direction. And I am certain I never looked that good in reality. My hair is much scruffier looking and I definitely know that I am not wearing a halo for certain. I am also pretty sure Viktor Krum was never this ugly for real and I watch Ron destroy the locket Horcrux with the images neither he nor Harry has ever told me about. I had no idea he was this uncertain about himself, that he even considered Harry to be a threat?

Harry and I were so totally never going to happen. He drove me up the wall with his constant complete ignoring of my warnings, always running of without even so much as a single argument in advance. I could never debate anything with Harry. Ron at least knew how to argue, but Harry? He would go all silent and moody and not respond to my thoroughly well-thought reservations. I really hated that character flaw in Harry. He would listen and pretend to hear me and I would walk away, glad that he saw the light, to find out he went ahead to do some foolish heroic thing on his own, anyway. However, the last heroic thing I get to witness is Ron pushing me into the fireplace and tossing the Floo Powder at me. It's the first time I see the tears I felt falling down my cheeks so long ago. It's also the first time I feel the tremendous relieve that Ron felt, when he witnessed me Floo-ing away. All I ever felt about that moment is deep sadness. I never experienced it with joy in my heart as Ron did.

It's when Voldemort's stops his complete disregard of Ron's privacy by showing it all to me. And I suddenly feel the real tears that are falling down my face. I close my eyes and turn away from the monster that sits across from me on the couch. That has the nerve to compare himself to Ron and think he will come out on top? Never in a million years will he even begin to measure up to Ron's bravery, kindness, loyalty, friendship, love and his good heart, his beautiful, wonderful good heart.

So what if he liked Quidditch and had a completely orange room to prove it. So what if he didn't know the first laws of Arithmancy. So what if I could never get him to read a single page of Hogwarts A History. So what if he could be a tad bit tactless and blunt. So what if he needed a silly book called Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches in order to learn that a compliment every now and then might be appreciated. At least he read a book whole. And I know he loved me and I loved him and that means everything.

I feel someone wiping and kissing my tears away and I turn my head even further away in disgust. Voldemort takes a hold of my head and turns me to face him, but he misinterprets my tears. 'The truth is hard to face, isn't it? Now, you see how silly the boy was.'

And he moves to kiss me on the mouth again. I close my eyes and try to get away, but he has me in a very tight grip. 'Please, don't…,' I beg him, while my tears are flowing down uncontrollably.

I can't stand the fact that my body will soon betray me by reacting to him after those images, but to my utter surprise he halts upon hearing my plea and caresses my hair. 'Perhaps I overdid it, but you needed to see what a silly emotion love is,' he says softly. 'And I can be a merciful Lord to those I find worthy. I will leave you to consider your options and once you see your folly you can begin by reading this book.'

He plants the Dark Arts Volume back in my lap and leaves his study. It isn't until the door is thoroughly shut behind him that I begin to cry out loud. I never before missed or felt Ron's absence as intensely as now. Before I could hardly remember, but now it all comes rushing back to me. And it shows me that I have to stop that murdering lunatic, before he destroys any more good and decent people. Before there is nothing left to fight for and he drags nothing but darkness across this planet. He can not achieve immortality. I have to find a way to use his own eagerness in destroying his soul against him. There has to be a method and I need to find it, before Maglor brings him the Amulet.


	15. Chapter 15

**Spoilers:** All Harry Potter books, including Deathly Hallows.

 **Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. And the above also goes for the song text and anything else you might recognise.

 **Author's note:** Voldemort's POV.

* * *

**The Bittersweet Taste of Victory**

_And you are such a fool  
To worry like you do  
I know it's tough, and you can never get enough  
Of what you don't really need now... my oh my_

_I was unconscious, half asleep  
The water is warm till you discover how deep...  
I wasn't jumping... for me it was a fall  
It's a long way down to nothing at all_

_You've got to get yourself together  
You've got stuck in a moment and now you can't get out of it  
Don't say that later will be better now  
You're stuck in a moment and you can't get out of it_

_And if the night runs over  
And if the day won't last  
And if your way should falter  
Along the stony pass  
It's just a moment  
This time will pass_

U2; Stuck in a moment

**Chapter fifteen**

Utterly satisfied Lord Voldemort leaves his study. He is certain he has dealt a significant blow to Hermione's spirit by showing her how wrong the Weasley boy was for someone of her intelligence and power. Her tears told him she now fully understood how ludicrous the emotion of love truly is. It makes people be with those that are incompatible to them. So many people who should not be together are because of love. Pfftt… Love does not empower you. Merlin had it all wrong. The fool. And he snorts as he remembers the chapter title above the text that described the events that occurred between him and Granger.

' _Love: the magical force that overpowers all.'_

His high-pitched, cold laugh resonates through the corridor. Love makes you soft and weak. He knows this to be true. He has seen it all over the globe, intelligent people who turned into mind-boggling morons, because they needed to love someone. Lord Voldemort has always despised the emotion and he feels a thoroughly healthy revulsion towards those who grave it, or even worse, search for it. Disgusting, that's what it is, disgusting and useless. Love, a magical power. HA! Never in a million years.

Well, at least now Hermione knows how useless it is too. His hand rests on the doorknob to his living room as he relishes in his victory. She broke down in front of him; finally. He closes his eyes and savours the moment. She is his now, truly his. And it makes him feel on top of the world. He finally broke the wretched, insolent girl; if there would have been any Weasleys left alive, he would have sent them a thank you message. For all he needs to do now is put her back together. Lord Voldemort will show her true power and force. He is so looking forward to watch her fall into darkness and live up to her rightful potential. She will become a dark force to be reckoned with. And she will be all his. His! At last, someone to talk to who isn't mentally handicapped. He smirks and swoops through the door to see if the elf has had any success in locating the Amulet, yet.

As he walks inside his own living room he sees Maglor sitting on the ground, his legs bend underneath him. A silver cord with a strangely glowing emerald stone twirls above a map of the UK. The sheer concentration is written all over the elf's face as the cord keeps moving about, while Silimaurë chants in Elfish. Voldemort sits down on his black leather couch and takes on a leisure posture. Soon, the Amulet of Aine will be his, despite all of Hermione's efforts to keep it from him. It will be brought to him by one of its makers, so he will finally reach his lifelong ambition of immortality once more. He watches the elf scry and wonders how these proud creatures can possibly be related to their slave-like relatives who crowd up the kitchen of Hogwarts. What could have happened in the past that caused such a huge evolutionary distinction? He knows their kinship is why Silimaurë was able to pass the Hogwarts Wards without being noticed. Elf-magic is allowed in. It's a true testament to the existing blood bond between House-elves and the Elves of Everon that the wards can't distinguish between their magic.

A deep frown appears on Maglor's face and he twirls the cord around his hand, snatching the stone in his fist. A frustrated growl is uttered next and the elf flies to his feet.

'Impossible,' Silimaurë mutters and he starts pacing the room, 'how has she accomplished that?'

Voldemort watches the elf warily. Surely, Granger couldn't have found a method to hide the Amulet from _them_.

'Accomplished what?' he asks quietly.

The corner of his mouth tugs upward in joy, when Maglor shrieks and jumps ten feet up in the air in shock upon hearing his voice. Apparently, the elf missed the arrival of Lord Voldemort in the room earlier, but now he has come to the realisation that he isn't alone and he is eyeing Voldemort somewhat uneasy. Yes, the elf is nervous. Voldemort is certain of that now and he pushes himself out of the couch.

'I asked you a question, Silimaurë. I don't like to be kept waiting,' he adds warningly.

The elf throws his hands in the air in defeat. 'I can't find the bloody amulet anywhere. It's impossible. There is no way she could have hidden it from us, no way,' Silimaurë adds disbelievingly and somewhat resentful, like he is insulted by the concept. 'Are you certain she has hidden it in this country?'

Lord Voldemort frowns his forehead, before he smirks condescendingly. 'She had no way of leaving; if she had, she would not have returned to this country. Maybe it's your skill in scrying that is lacking,' he suggests to the already indignant elf.

Maglor grumbles in outrage and paces to the map. A flick of the elf's wrist and it lands in his hands. 'Look!' he says angrily, and he plants the map on the table, unrolls the cord and starts scrying again.

Voldemort folds his arms over each other and stares down patronising. The stone starts to glow and hovers over an area, but does not pinpoint an exact location. Maglor raises his other hand in despair. 'Impossible, truly impossible,' he squeaks, sounding more like a House-elf now than before. 'It's supposed to land. I can't imagine what is blocking the reception.'

But Voldemort is staring at the seaside area the stone is hovering above and he feels a deep fury build up inside of him. That little witch couldn't possibly have hidden the Amulet there of all places; the nerve of the woman. Still, he knows it will explain why the scrying isn't working to its full extend. He went out of his way to block every magical output himself from inside that place a long time ago. He also knows he would never have thought to look there. After the Horcrux disaster, he swore to himself never to set foot in that cave ever again. So it would have been the perfect hiding place. If she… And he stares into thin air contemplating on the options, but the more he considers it, the more he realises that Granger would have had the gall to take the Amulet there.

'I know where it is,' he suddenly hisses furious, before he swirls out of the room and leaves Maglor standing alone, flabbergasted.

Voldemort paces through the corridor; he flips out his wand and blasts the door to the study open, before swirling inside. Granger's head flies up in shock at the sudden act of violence, while he marches toward her. She is still sitting on the couch, curled up like a ball with her arms around her legs. Her face is tearstained, so he can tell she stopped crying not that long ago. But he really doesn't feel like taking her emotional state into account at the moment. He grabs a hold of her upper arm without saying a word and drags her of the couch. The book that was lying beside her plummets to the ground.

'Wh… what?' she stutters, confused.

He wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her roughly toward him. 'You're going to be very sorry if you hid it in there,' he whispers into her ear menacingly.

'Hid what in where?' Hermione asks stupidly.

He sees her inquiring, puzzled expression as she turns her head to the side and glances upward to him for some clue to what brought about his current state of mind. But he has no interest in responding and a gasp escapes her mouth as he draws on her magic to Disapparate them both out of Hogwarts. They arrive outside with the distinctive cracking sound and a brisk autumn breeze greets them, while he thrusts her magic back into her. A small wail escapes her lips, but she recovers fast, while he examines their surroundings. They are standing right on top of a high outcrop of dark, bare rock. It's around noon on a sunny September day, so the scene isn't nearly as intimidating as he would have liked it to be, but he feels pleased, when he notices Granger is pushing her body into him in fright. He has no doubt she wants to get away from the edge with her fear of heights and he holds her tightly, while she tries to wrestle away.

'Jog any memory yet?' he hisses coldly.

A baffled facial expression is all the response he gets, and he realises she is either a wonderful actress or has done a remarkable job of Obliviating the precise areas of her brain. 'Come on, Granger. Surely Potter has told you about this place,' and he whispers the location in her ear.

She stops her foolish attempts to wrestle free and stares back at him, astonished. Her pupils dilate in fear and she starts shaking her head vigorously as she looks down at the sea below, which water is foaming and churning dangerously.

'A wonderful place to hide an item such as an Amulet, wouldn't you agree?' he snarls.

'No, no, I couldn't have…' she whispers so soft he can barely hear it.

But he isn't in the mood to hear her objections and with a harsh push in the shoulder he shoves her over the edge. A chilling scream reaches his eardrums as Lord Voldemort casually glances over the edge to watch her plummet towards the treacherous waters below. His face is set blank, uncaring, as shown in the reflection of the shiny black rock's surface. A splash follows quickly and he waits calculatedly. Suddenly, Granger resurfaces coughing and sneezing, while mowing her arms around rather wildly, before submerging completely again. It's when he remembers the wench can't swim. Terrific, now he has to get into these uninviting waters himself, which is not what he was planning on doing. He waves his wand around and flies downward. Hovering above the sea's surface he considers his options. Perhaps a Summoning Charm will do the trick? He does have the so-called Elder Wand. It's supposed to be able to perform miracles and he will do anything for not having to dive into that.

'Accio Hermione Jean Granger,' he casts without conviction.

It doesn't work, as he expected. After all, you can only summon objects not persons. And that wand is just a stupid myth, nothing more. He should have known. All the signs were there. Grindelwald got outmatched in duelling Dumbledore, while whipping the Deathstick around. And even clearer in retrospect, Dumbledore did not beat him with this stick in the Ministry so many years ago. It is a sure testament this wand is useless to whoever has it. He sighs and watches the water in disgust, if she will only resurface once more, he can grab her and he won't have to get wet also. But he realises it is taken too long and he does need her alive, so with another sigh, he dives into the water resentful. It's as ice-cold as he remembers, and he flicks his wrist to administer a heating charm around his person. Something he was unable to do as a young boy.

'Lumos,' he adds nonverbally.

His head swivels left and right to locate Granger, but all he sees is darkness in the sea that is whirling and rotating around him. He feels the current pulling him sideways and downwards, but it does not bother him. He needs to find her first. It's when Lord Voldemort realises he can use their compatible magic to locate her. He concentrates and then pushes his magic through the water into every direction around him. A split-second later, he knows where she is and he uses magic to dive down at an incredible speed. A limp and lifeless body is being pulled down by a maelstrom in the light of his wand and he grabs a hold of her arm and changes direction quickly. Water is thrown in every direction as they resurface out of the sea forcefully and he flies them away to the fissure. He hovers before it and starts hissing and spitting without drawing in breath.

A crack is followed by another and soon the fissure widens above the sea and he flies in, hissing in Parseltongue back at the opening after passing through in order to close it again. He lands them in the middle of the entrance cave. A Drying Charm takes care of the wet robes that are clinging annoyingly to his body and Lord Voldemort kneels down beside the unconscious girl, before placing his hand on her ribcage. His crimson eyes flutter shut as he concentrates on her. Sparks fly through the air and the cave turns brightly lit as he uses his magic to empty her lungs of the fluid that is in there. Another jolt of electricity gets her heart pumping again and he can feel her stir underneath his hand.

Suddenly, she rolls to her side and starts coughing uncontrollably. He opens his eyes to see her brown orbs open wide and looking around slightly disoriented. His hand caresses her back with his magic, because that coughing sound is irritating him severely and he wants it to stop now. Finally, she calms down a bit and he stares at her ghostlike, white face. A few strands of wet, brown curls are sticking to her cheek. He is mesmerised by the contrast and moves his hand to touch her face and remove the hair out of the way. As he touches her he realises nothing happens. He feels nothing and it pleases him immensely. At last, things are back to normal. He should have known all it will take is her submission to make him stop obsessing.

Her lips are still blue and he feels her shiver relentlessly underneath his hands in those wet robes she is wearing. Her teeth are clattering noisily on each other, so he is certain she must be very cold. A vile smile makes its way to his features. It must be dreadful for her to have so much power and not be able to use it without his permission. He tilts his head and watches the shivering witch meticulously. Should he allow her to warm herself? Perhaps she deserves this punishment for making him come back to a place Potter defiled with his mere presence? He is still reminiscing on this, when…

'A..are … yo…you … cra … zy?' Hermione hisses in between shivers.

Surprised, he looks down at her. Her brown eyes are sparkling with something he was not expecting to see anymore; fury and deviance. Impossible. Lord Voldemort broke her; he saw it. She can't be resisting him anymore. It's impossible. It's not done. He is seeing and hearing things that aren't there. He must be misjudging her demeanour. She is his, period.

'How could I po…possibly get in he...re, you idiot?'

'Ouch,' he says more out of surprise then anything else as Hermione's fist collides with his biceps.

'I can't swim, you moron.'

And she launches another swing at him, but this time he is snaps out of his stupor and he grabs a hold of both of her wrists, before she has a change to hit him. He stares in astonishment at the furious witch that is now struggling to get free from his grasp, so she can hit him some more and relieve her anger and frustration. How is this possible? She was hurting, when she realised her silly feelings of love for the Weasley boy had been a monumental error. She was crying. He broke her! He won! She shouldn't be fighting him anymore! It infuriates him sincerely that she is.

'Stop it!' Voldemort yells desperate and he shakes her harshly. 'Stop it.'

Hermione blinks, and then, she frowns and stares at him, like she is seeing something she has never seen before. What is it with this woman? Why can't she just do what she is told? Why can't she simply obey him? Everybody else has the good sense to do so. Just how stupid is she actually? Can't she see what he is offering her? Others would jump at the opportunity he is presenting her, a change to rule the world beside him. But here she is, a mere Mudblood, who is doing nothing besides aggravating him. Constantly arguing with him, when he knows he is right. Lord Voldemort is never wrong. Never!

Granger is no longer struggling against him, but is watching him with… is that pity in her eyes? He clutches on to Hermione's wrists without even noticing how much force he puts on his grasp. That better not be pity! He is not someone to be pitied! And he jumps to his feet, dragging the shivering witch along. She stumbles, while she tries to get her bearing and crashes into him as he holds their arms between them. Their eyes meet again and she tries to speak, but he can't understand a syllable she is saying anymore due to the violent clattering of her teeth. A Drying and Heating Charm takes care of that and he watches her expectantly, daring her to say something foolish, but the girl surprises him once again.

'Thank you,' she says appreciative and tremendously calm.

However, he is certain that wasn't what she was saying before, so he raises his eyebrows and waits for her to continue. Her cheeks are mildly flushed, but her face is still pale and he wonders why he has not noticed before what a deep brown colour her eyes truly are. They really are incredibly beautiful, with sparks of dark green and black in them. Most unusual.

'I was trying to tell you, before you shoved me off the cliff, that Harry told me he had to swim through a fissure to get in this cave. Even if I wanted to hide something here; I wouldn't have been able to do so,' she says softly. 'I am, of course, assuming you made certain no one could Apparate in.'

He gazes into those incredible eyes. She isn't lying, but then again, she Obliviated herself. So that doesn't mean anything. You can easily lie about something you don't remember. Still, she is making sense. And he calms down considerably. How could she have gotten in? She is not a Parselmouth; she can't swim and she dreads flying. Perhaps she asked someone else to deliver the Amulet to its location, but he casts that option aside after careful consideration. Granger wouldn't risk exposing the whereabouts of the Amulet to a third party and she certainly wouldn't dream of jeopardising someone by sending them into one of his strongholds. Still… it is a perfect hideout and the Scrying Stone did hover above this area. He lets go of her wrists and strokes her face.

'We're here now,' Voldemort says quietly. 'We may as well check whether you're right in assuming you had no way into this cave.'

And he places his hand on the small of her back and guides her towards the cave wall. A flick of his wrist and his wand is in his hand. He points it to the wall and a blazing white arched outline appears; a second complicated swirl and the rock within the arch disappears, leaving an opening into total darkness. He coaxes the girl through it and he sees her puzzled expression as they pass the archway.

'Aren't you supposed to make a blood donation to open this?' she asks curious, looking back up at him.

He smirks at her curiosity. 'Want to learn some Dark Arts tricks, darling?' he smoothly says.

She remains silent and Lord Voldemort laughs out loud. 'Surely, you weren't expecting me to go stab myself in order to get in? It is such a crude method of gaining entry, wouldn't you agree? Anyone with half a brain would have seen the other option,' he adds snickering, taking extreme pleasure in insulting the old coot that guided Potter in here.

'Why give people another means to enter?' Granger asks, stunned.

'Because only my blood should have gotten them out,' Voldemort answers somewhat annoyed, while he halts in front of the great black lake.

'You meant to trap them inside,' Hermione says knowingly, 'only Harry's blood, oh…'

And she stops talking. 'Yeah, oh,' he adds superfluously and a bit irritated.

There is no need to remind him of the blunder, if only he would have realised in advance that taking Potter's blood would mean he had to change the enchantments on this cave; then he would have gotten the boy long before he destroyed all his other Horcruxes. And he wouldn't have had to travel here with this Mudblood to find an item that can restore his soul. Not to mention the fact that he would have had the privilege of ridding the world of that old, Muggle-loving, do-gooder himself, because from what Snape had told him about Dumbledore's condition it was pretty damn clear to him that he was the one who drank his potion. Oh well, there is no point in hindsight. They were both dead and rotting away slowly anyway.

He points his wand to the misty greenish light that shines in the centre of the lake. A plume of fire emanates from his wand and whirls through the air. An underhand whip changes the configuration of the fire and it roars into a humongous Serpent lashing around at the environment. Lord Voldemort hisses and spits without drawing in breath at the Fiendfyre Serpent, and with a dramatic drop, it plunges backward into the water. Steam sizzles to the out of sight ceiling as the fiery Serpent splits up the lake into two halves and clears a pathway to the centre to walk through. The gentle adding of some pressure in her back is all it takes to make Granger lead the way and they walk between the huge walls of dark water magically held back on either side of them.

'Why don't you just fly over?' Hermione asks eventually.

She has halted her forward motion and is looking up to him with an inquisitive mind. He strokes her hair calmly. At least she isn't so stupid to ask him why they aren't using the boot, which makes him decide to answer truthfully. ' _We_ ,' he says, emphasising on the pronoun, 'can't fly over, because I took several precautions to entrap someone who'd try that. Let's just say flying across this lake is incredibly hazardous to ones health.'

And his cold, high pitched laugh echoes through the large cavern. 'You mean it will kill you,' Hermione concludes rightfully and he notices her shrug.

'Dreadful and true,' he replies, stupefied by her shrugging action.

'There are worse things than death,' she states certain and marches on.

Within three steps he has overtaken her and grabs her from behind. 'Are there now?' he whispers in her ear menacingly and he turns her head to face the water and its contents. 'Pray tell, Hermione. Does this look appealing to you?'

A dead woman floats by. Her face seems like a skull covered only by a thin layer of white, wrinkled tissue and her dress flows around her similar to smoke whirling in the air, while her round, open eyes seem misted like cobwebs. Her hair has lost all colours and is strangely translucent. Besides being a ragged, messed up bundle it is still held together by two blue ribbons. It's how he recognises the corpse in question. It is the woman whom he once knew as little Amy Benson. He holds up his hand to command the Infirius to remain where it is and a second wave summons another, while he is waiting for Granger to reply to his question. She seems to be thinking on how to respond to him. And he is about to tell her to admit he is right and except her defeat in this argument, because he knows he has won.

'That isn't a normal state of death,' Hermione replies softly.

'You prefer rotting underneath the ground then, Hermione? Or do you want to be burned into ashes like some seem to fancy?'

She shakes her head slowly. 'You're only talking about what death does to your body not what happens to your spirit or soul,' she rebuttals.

Voldemort snorts. 'Please, don't tell me you're one of those fools who follow those stupid Muggle religions,' he says exasperated and he dramatically raises his hand to the ceiling and exclaims in a preaching like manner, 'let us pray … in order to erase our sins. It's all quite convenient, don't you think?'

'No, I don't think it is convenience what makes people believe. Tell me, does religion appals you so much, because it reminds you of your past in the orphanage or because you truly believe it is rubbish?'

'It is rubbish, Granger. Look at them!' he replies angry and he points to the two corpses that float in front of her. 'Do you see any of their Gods coming to the rescue?'

'Just because you violated their bodies doesn't mean you were able to harm their spirit or soul,' Hermione rebuts and she shakes her head in sorrow. 'People don't deserve to be treated in this manner.'

'Oh, don't they?' he spats at her and Lord Voldemort commands the Infiri to step forward into the pathway. He tosses Granger toward them and they each grab one of her arms with their rotting, decaying hands. She sure is frightened now. Fear is dripping out of every pore in her body. He can practically smell it and it delights him. Silly woman and her daft logic. So death is nothing to fear, he can see she is surely proof to her own testimony right now and he snorts loudly.

'Hermione Jean Granger meet the lovely Amy Benson and the nice and charming Dennis Bishop, who as you put it so delicately really do not deserve to be here,' he snarls.

He notices her shock upon hearing those names and he steps forward until their bodies are only inches apart. 'Who told you about them?' he asks, narrowing his eyes at her.

'Dumbledore told Harry you terrorised two children in this cave,' Hermione answers quietly.

He sees how her eyes dart nervously between the two Infiri and him. 'Did he now?' he says disgusted. 'So he told Potter all about my evil deeds to the poor, helpless, little muggles and Potter just couldn't wait to share them with the rest of the world. So tell me, did Dumbledore happen to mention why I brought them here or did that conveniently escape his attention?'

Hermione is now looking at the ground in silence. He takes her head in his hands and lifts it so she has no other choice but to meet his gaze. 'As I thought…' he whispers, before addressing the male Infirius. 'Dennis, why don't you show Miss Granger, what you were famous for in the orphanage?'

He sees the uncertainty and fear in her eyes as another Infirius steps out at his command and takes a hold of her arm, so the Infirius formerly known as Bishop has his hands free. He smiles at her pitiless and strokes her face, because he knows what will happen next. A shocked gasp frees itself from Hermione's lips as Dennis moves his hands underneath her shirt and gropes her indiscreetly. She starts to struggle, but it is of no use and he locks her eyes with his, while ordering the Infirius to move to lower grounds. And since he is standing so close to her he can feel Dennis' hand moving into her trousers. He knows it must be tremendously disgusting to be touched in this manner by an Infirius, but he is adamant to win this argument. People did not deserve to be here. How dare she?

'Please stop,' Hermione asks him desperate, while she tries to get away from the groping hands of the Infirius.

'Oh sorry dear, but saying no only turns Mr Bishop on. Doesn't it, Dennis? Why don't you show Hermione what you always did to people who struggled and told you no?' Voldemort adds viciously and he orders the Infirius to enter her with his fingers one by one.

Hermione has turned silent, but he sees her stares, pleading at him to make the Infirius stop. He wipes a lone tear away with his thumb. 'And then, of course, there was precious Amy Benson, always ratting out others, little Miss Tattletale,' he snarls and he adds in a mock sweet, high tone of voice, 'Mrs Cole, Tom made his shirt turn white! Mrs Cole, Tom stole an apple from the kitchen! Mrs Cole, blah… blah… blah… Benson en Bishop, always causing problems for others, but they are so nice and polite. Always ever so helpful and accommodating and they never break to the rules or have strange events happen around them. People just adore them. How about you Hermione? Do you love Dennis Bishop now?' he jeers. 'Do you not feel he got exactly what he deserved?'

But Voldemort does not wait for her to respond to his questions and continues. 'I'm sorry if Dennis is a bit clumsy with you, but he would have preferred Mr Potter or Mr Weasley instead of you. They were more his type so to speak. Sod off, Dennis,' he orders and the Inferius withdraws his hands from Hermione. 'Perhaps that is why good old Albus saw no problem with his behaviour?' he snarls vicious. 'Maybe if he would have groped girls, he would have been reprimanded?'

'Dumbledore knew about this?' Hermione asks disbelieving.

Voldemort shrugs. 'How should I know? He surely never bothered to find out. All he probably cared about where the two poor defenceless muggles whom I did terrible deeds to. Can you see now how I had to take matters into my own hands? How I had to show those two who they thought they could mess with?' And he smiles victorious at the memory. 'I knew I could never get away with doing anything inside the orphanage, not after the whole ridiculous ruckus about the stupid rabbit, but I knew Bishop would be foolish enough to follow me, if he thought I went somewhere secluded and Benson was also easy to lure along. All I had to do was pretend I had a little secret and she made this pathetic attempt to follow me unnoticed as well.'

He sees he has captured Hermione's attention completely with his story. She is easy to confide in. He has never before told anyone this, but it feels somehow safe to tell her. Those brown eyes just draw him in and he wants to share it all. So he does. Lord Voldemort tells Hermione precisely and in great detail everything that ever happened between him and those two and he relishes in telling her how he got even with them at age seven. Because he knows she understands.

'Vengeance is so sweet; Hermione, but you already know that, don't you?' And he starts counting on his fingers. 'Marietta Edgecombe; goofy Ronald in his sixth year; Lavender Brown, Rita Skeeter, Dolores Umbridge,' and he smirks there, 'and my personal favourite, Draco Malfoy. That one was particularly vicious. Pray tell, did you ever tell those two goody-two-shoes friends of yours what you did to him after the red head was through eating his slugs?'

'No,' is the immediate and honest reply he gets.

It pleases him tremendously. Non-verbally he orders the other Infiri to bugger off too and go back to their usual boring floating business. And he moves his hands from Hermione's face to her shoulders and down over her breasts to her hips, before he pulls her against him. They maintain eye contact through it all and it is more intense than ever before. And he nods in affirmation to her answer. 'You were right not to tell them,' he says softly, 'they wouldn't have understood. They would have turned you in, but you know you did the right thing, because Malfoy never bothered you again for real after you showed him, did he?'

'How did you know what I did to Draco?' she asks him quietly. 'I never told anyone and I am pretty certain he would not have been bragging about it either.'

'His mind was an open book to me, Hermione. I daresay your little action was most entertaining.'

'Oh, of course,' she mutters. 'I thought Dumbledore might have guessed.'

'He did, but he had no proof and Draco didn't dare tell him,' Voldemort replies snickering. He is truly marvelling at the fact that the Headmaster was unable to proof another crime that happened right underneath his big, oversized nose. It's when he sees Granger's eyes have a rather sad expression. She should be revelling in her victory, not worry about some dead man's opinions of her.

'But you needn't worry about Dumbledore and his ridiculous morals. He means nothing,' he says and he kisses her softly on the lips.

'I shouldn't have… I went too far,' Granger mutters in regret.

'No, no, no,' he says in shock. 'You showed him you were not to be trifled with.'

'I should have apologised to Draco at the least,' she states certain and remorseful. 'I made things worse.'

It sickens him severely. 'Made things worse?' Voldemort says disbelievingly, 'you've paid him back for his actions and prevented future assaults on your person. How is that making things worse?'

'Because it will lead to this,' Hermione says forcefully and she waves her arm around at the water. 'It will never end with revenge; never. You stand here claiming that it helped that you showed those two not to mess with you anymore.'

'It did help, Granger. Those two never were the same again after their little excursion into this cave with me. I won,' he hisses.

'Then why did you feel the need to attack them again after they became adults? Why turn them into Infiri if you had already won? Why bother? Revenge doesn't help. Revenge keeps the pain alive. You've kept the pain alive. They are here as meaningless shelves of the individuals they once were and they are still hurting you.'

His insides are tearing apart as he hears her speak those words and with a forceful, furious push he dumps her through the enchanted wall into the lake. The Infiri immediately grab her and pull her in further. He closes his eyes, tilts his head backward and sighs in relieve at the silence. That is so much better, nice and quiet. Nobody bothering him with insane remarks. Another order and he watches the Infiri throw Hermione straight back into his arms. She is doubling over, panting and shaking, while she coughs up the water she apparently breathed in. He takes a hold of her wet hair with his free arm that isn't around her waist, and roughly, he pulls her head backward. Keeping his long spidery fingers firmly entwined in her curls he gazes down satisfied into her frightened face.

'Remember your place, darling, or you will get very intimately acquainted with every Infirius in this lake. You won't be able to walk normally for days after that, and I promise you, I will not hear your pleas to make them stop a second time. Do you understand me?' he whispers menacingly.

She barely moves her head in an affirmative nod, but he sees the surrender and captures her mouth violently with his. He demands entry and she complies, not resisting his exploration of her tongue with his. She is his and the longer she fights him, the sweeter the victory will be in the end. Lord Voldemort knows this to be true. Reluctantly, he withdraws from her and they continue their walk quietly. Eventually, they reach the tiny island of smooth, dark rock in the centre and Hermione halts a few feet away from it. Lord Voldemort notices with sheer satisfaction that she is watching the stone basin on the pedestal with clear apprehension. So she has finally realised why he brought her along for the ride. Good girl.

And he places his hand in her back silently and coaxes her onward. Side by side they reach the basin and while he is monitoring Granger, she is looking down at the phosphorescent emerald liquid uneasy. A wicked grin grows on his face and he conjures a goblet out of nowhere. He so loves toying with her. Almost immediately Hermione tries to take a step backwards, but he has already blocked that direction by moving quickly behind her and he pushes her against the stone basin with his body. His arms are resting on the rim of the basin on either side of her, blocking her in thoroughly. He lowers his head to her wet cheek and kisses her softly, before dipping the goblet into the potion allowing it to be filled to the brim and raising it again. He hears the soft whimper that escapes Hermione's lips and he smirks as he strokes her hair reassuringly.

'Care to make a toast, Hermione?' he asks devious.

And he moves her hands around the goblet, folding his over hers. He feels her shiver in angst and it invigorates him. Perhaps … he should let her drink it? It will be fun to see her relive her worst nightmares, to hear her scream in pain. But it's already halfway through the day and he needs her to perform at the sorting ceremony tonight, so this potion is really out of the question. Still, tormenting her with it is a lot of fun.

'I suppose I can say to your good health, Hermione, but we both know this is not a health beverage. So perhaps you'd like to make some final, memorable words?' he adds teasingly at her silence. 'No?'

She bites her lip. He lets go with one hand and takes a hold of her chin, turning her head to face him. 'I may be inclined to grant your plea, if it pleases me enough,' Voldemort says devilish.

He stares at her smiling. This is a wonderful day. He hopes she will humiliate herself by begging to him for her life, if she does try he will make her grovel on the floor, before granting her wish. But the girl's eyes dart away from him in clear resignation with her fate. Hmmm… oh well, too bad, perhaps some other time he will be more fortunate. He gives her a soft pat on the cheek, before flicking his wrist to make his wand appear. 'Evanesco,' he casts out loud at the goblet.

Granger is definitely confused now, and he starts stirring the potion with his wand, while chanting an ancient Dark Arts Hymn. He can see her looking puzzled at his ability to reach into it and he can hear her questions in his head. Oh, the joy of an intelligent and inquisitive mind. She is practically dying to understand how he does this, and he hears her mentally scolding herself for wanting to know. He decides to answer the question she is still too stubborn to give a voice to. Perhaps some more insight into the Dark Arts will sway her.

'This is, as you already guessed correctly, partly a Nightmare Potion. It not only lets people relive their worst memories and fears, but also makes them physically feel the pain those fears bring along,' he lectures. 'Care to dazzle me with your insight by taking a guess to the other potions I mixed it with to achieve those results?'

'A Pain-inducing Concoction, Diluted Befuddlement Draught, and a small dose of Forgetfulness Potion,' she replies fast, as if she is back in Hogwarts and one of the teachers has asked the class a question.

'Impressive,' Voldemort says appraisingly, 'what made you think of the latter two?'

'The Befuddlement Draught will make someone unable to distinguish between the reality and the nightmare, making the Nightmare Potion more effective and it needs dilution otherwise someone will be too confused to relive their fears,' Hermione answers, while the potion in the basin begins to transfigure and the phosphorescent glow becomes brighter and brighter as the liquid slowly turns into vapour upon Voldemort's stirring motions.

'And why the small dose of Forgetfulness Potion?' he adds.

'A small dose will eliminate only the last real memory of an individual, meaning they will forget why they came here, but remember the pain and the nightmare you supplied them with. It would stop anyone from drinking the rest of the potion, if they came alone; making certain your Horcrux remained safe.'

She really is bright. He has to give her that, but then again, he wouldn't have been interested in her, if she was some dim-witted broad. Lord Voldemort doubts anyone else would have considered the benefits of adding Forgetfulness Potion to this mix.

'This basin can only be emptied by drinking it; however,' he adds, waiting for the proper dramatic effect, 'you probably know where vanished objects go.'

'Into non-being,' Hermione mutters, puzzled.

'Exactly, I have just vanished the goblet and part of the potion. This lovely, old chant creates a connection between being and non-being, causing a direct link between the vanished goblet into non-being and the potion in being. The protections on this basin will see that part of the potion has vanished inside the goblet and assume that it was drunk by someone. So when I dipped my wand, which made the goblet disappear and is part of the connection, into the potion it thinks it is the goblet filling up again. Now, all that remains to be done is a simple transfiguration charm and the potion moves to the goblet into a state of non-being, thinking all the while it is being ingested by someone.'

'So that is why you're transfiguring it in intervals,' Hermione says understanding, looking back down into the whirl of vapour in the basin, 'so it will disappear in the same manner as when someone drank it, while under its influence.'

'Exactly,' he responds excited. He is overjoyed by the fact she considered this detail.

'But weren't you afraid someone else might consider to do this?'

'Use Seth's Death Chant in this manner?' he asks innocently.

He laughs out loud when he hears her shocked gasp. 'Come, come, Granger, no need to uphold this false sense of propriety around me. I already know you found it a rather useful chant and it is, no matter what its history or reputation. Anyway, I believe you are aware that not many people know the wording, even lesser know the proper pronunciation to the wording, and fewer are able to conjure the magical force required behind it. Only an exceptional wizard, or witch,' he adds, kissing her on the head, 'would be able to perform the Chant. And you truly need some practise with it before it works correctly, which was quite difficult to do undisturbed in my younger days I might say. All those nosey busybodies from the Ministry,' he says and he glares at the lake amusedly, 'at least they are good for something.

A final whirl of vapour and the potion is gone. They both look into the basin simultaneously and he smirks when Granger's mouth falls open stupidly, because there, right on the bottom of the basin, it lies. A silvery necklace with an emerald stone attached to it: the Amulet of Aine.

'Seems you found a way in after all, darling. I'm impressed,' he whispers thoroughly pleased. 'Why don't you do the honours,' he suggest with a sly smile.

Her hand is moving toward the basin, when she halts rather abruptly and glares at him suspiciously. She really is clever. He smirks. 'No?' he says mocking. 'If you can get it out, I'll let you have it,' he adds laughing.

She pulls her hand back to her body, having apparently decided it is not safe to stick her hand inside the basin. 'Smart move,' he tells her, and pats her on the head condescendingly.

He snatches the item from the bottom himself and watches it with sheer delight. A wild feeling of happiness overtakes him as he holds the key to his immortality in his hands. It is extraordinary beautiful. He holds it up in the air to examine it more thoroughly. The Amulet's emerald stone is a work of art in itself. It's been carved to perfection, causing it to glow in a deep green colour, and he notices the several, delicate silver symbols that are engraved into it as he turns it around. The necklace is made of the finest silver and he can almost sense its purity by the lightness and shine of the chain. This will look stunning on her and he watches the small witch on his side. She doesn't look too happy, biting her lip in sheer disappointment, but he feels happy enough for the both of them and he casts a Drying Charm to reward her for her impressive achievement by getting this item in here. He wonders how she did it and he can tell she is wondering the same thing.

'You really are the brightest witch of your age, Hermione,' he says appraisingly. 'Worthy of a wizard of my stature and standing, despite your unfortunate bloodlines.'

He sees those wonderful brown eyes stare at him rather worriedly now and he smiles. He has never been this exhilarated and overjoyed before. It's like nothing else matters. He has it all. This smart, exceptional witch and immortality are within his reach. And she will help him obtain his objective of living forever. Lord Voldemort steps towards Hermione. 'Give me your hand,' he orders.

Reluctantly, she complies and he turns her hand around, before laying the stone down in her palm. 'I believe you are familiar with the powers of this Amulet, Hermione,' he says smoothly, holding on to her hand that is carrying the stone. 'Now, watch how I dissect the nasty side-effects of having to feel love, remorse and other despicable emotions from the true purpose of this remarkable object, its soul-healing aspect.'

He swirls his wand around above his head and dark smoke circles them. 'Don't be frightened,' he says reassuringly, 'this will only impact on the stone.'

Another swirl, a dark flash… utter blackness for a moment and then it is done. He takes a step forward, closer to Hermione and examines the stone in her hand. A flicker of darkness is whirling dead centre. It has worked, as he knew it would. Lord Voldemort never fails. There have been those who claim that he does, who even had the gall to state that it would be boring if he always wins, but he took care of them quite adequately. Nobody will ever say such disturbing nonsense ever again, IF they value their own health and that of their loved ones.

He looks back up at the girl in front of him. A concerned frown is visibly enhancing her features; at least that's how he sees it. Everything looks cute on her at this moment when she is sharing in his victory. This is utter bliss. He feels like celebrating profusely and he laces his fingers with hers, before swiftly moving their hand around and catching the Amulet between their now joined palms. Hermione is eyeing him questionably and with his free hand he pulls her toward him.

'What did you do to it?' she asks, curiosity getting the better of her.

'I've split the powers,' he responds, eyeing her up and down appreciatively.

'But, but then it will still remain there. I don't see how that is helping you,' she says confused.

Lord Voldemort watches her meticulously, before taking the Amulet of Aine from her hand. 'Turn around,' he orders, not answering her question, yet.

He sees her apprehensive glance, but she moves just the same and he pulls her against him, watching his hands over her shoulder. He unlocks the necklace, while obliging Hermione by replying to her reservations. 'I've used our magical compatibility in this matter,' he says smug, moving her hair out of the way. 'The power of the Amulet that heals the soul will go to me, while …' and he kisses her in the neck, 'those nasty feelings of love and remorse and so on will go to you. Hope you don't mind,' he adds lightly, and his fingers brush her neck, while he places the necklace around it.

As he locks and adjusts it to hang properly, he kisses her on the cheek again. 'This looks absolutely stunning on you dearest,' he says softly. 'Green and silver seems to agree with your complexion.'

Hermione does not respond to his explanation, but he does not need her to. She will share in his victory and his achievements. She will be his completely one day; body, mind and soul. However, right now he is fine with settling for her lovely body. Voldemort lets their magic flow to his hands and he touches her with it. His hands roam over her body, taking excellent care in massaging both breasts manually and magically, before moving on to other sensitive areas. He can practically feel her go weak in the knees at his expertise and she starts to lean against him, her head tilts backwards on his shoulder and her cheek brushes his. So soft. He relishes in triumph, when her eyes flutter shut and she moans in clear relaxation, when he activates the sensory nerves on the inside of her arms.

'Why fight this, Hermione? You've already proven your worth to me. I can teach you everything I know and it will be my pleasure to do so,' he says against her skin, tempting her.

He knows the latter is true. He will enjoy teaching the Dark Arts to someone with her intelligence, to someone who will be able to grasp and appreciate the finer details and delicate meanings of the Arts. Instead of only applying the blunt force of it, which is all his daftly followers can understand. He rests his hands on her hips and guides the magic into her body.

'Ooooohh,' she groans intensely.

'All my knowledge is at your disposal, Hermione. All you need to do is take me up on my offer and I will show you the world. Can't you see we are made for each other? Can't you feel it?'

She gasps in delight at his handiwork and he captures her mouth forcefully. This time around she isn't holding back and their tongues battle ferociously. Just when he decides he needs her to turn around and face him she is already doing it on her own, without his guidance. He feels her delicate hands fumbling with the buttons of his pants, while they continue their passionate kissing. She moans in his mouth, while his magic caresses the inside of her thigh, slowly moving upward, until he has reached the core of her sex and she screams loudly, almost toppling over.

He remembers how wonderfully she rode him and he conjures a chair behind him and sits down, pulling Granger down with him, straddling her in his lap. A second later the clothes on the lower half of their bodies are cast away and she lowers herself on top of him. They move with so much force the chair can't hold them and as it breaks down they crash to the ground violently; Granger landing on top of him. He sees her giggle lovely at their ridiculous fall and he rolls her over, pinning her body to the ground with his. Their eyes lock in passion and desire.

'Scream for me, Hermione.'

And with brute force he penetrates her fully. It's unbelievable the way this woman makes him feel. She is not his first and he has definitely been around, but surely, she is the best he has ever had. Because by Merlin this compatible magic enables him to adjust her precisely to his needs. The power he yields over her body is intoxicating. He adores the slight discomfort that swirls in her eyes and he marvels at her passionate screams when he rocks inside of her, feeling her tighten around him, pushing him over the edge. Breathless and thoroughly satisfied he falls down beside her. Lying on his side, his head resting on his hand, he looks down at her, smiling broadly. Absentmindedly, he draws small circles on her exposed skin with his hand, causing her to shiver once more.

'See how you belong with me,' he softly says, 'see how we match perfectly. I promise you, my dear, once you've succumb to me fully I will make you feel like this forever. And I assure you, that contrary to these quickies, I am most capable of keeping you in a state of bliss for hours, if you please me.'

He kisses the soft skin in her throat gently and pulls the silent, little one possessively toward him. 'I can also be quite creative in how I administer pleasure to a woman; anything in particular you desire?' he asks deviously and he snickers as he notices her cheeks flush.

'Now, now, no need to turn all modest and shy on me afterwards, Hermione,' Voldemort adds in mock reprimand, and he feels positively delighted about her embarrassment, 'but we really don't have time for _that_ , honey. We have a sorting ceremony to attend to and I believe we're already running late as it is.'

'Don't you have better things to do besides snooping through my mind?' Hermione says resentful as he casts their clothes back on and pulls her to her feet.

'And miss out on all those wonderful ideas of yours? Now, that would be a shame,' he says snorting as they walk away in order to leave this place permanently.


	16. Chapter 16

**Spoilers:** All Harry Potter books, including Deathly Hallows.

 **Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The same goes for the U2 song text below and anything else you may recognise: it's not mine and I receive no money from it.

 **Author's note:** Hermione's POV.

* * *

**The Bittersweet Taste of Victory**

_I've conquered my past_

_The future is here at last_

_I stand at the entrance_

_To a new world I can see_

_The ruins to the right of me_

_Will soon have lost sight of me_

_Love rescue me._

U2; Love rescue me

**Chapter sixteen**

Maglor Silimaurë looks up from his book, when we enter the living room of Voldemort's quarters. The elf has made himself quite comfortable on the couch and is eyeing us with clear anticipation as he pockets his book in his colourful long jacket.

'Have you located the Amulet of Aine?' Maglor asks curious.

'I believe so,' Voldemort replies blank.

'I'd like to see it,' Maglor says kind of demanding.

Abruptly, the elf gets out of the couch and moves toward us. I can practically feel the annoyance rise in the man behind me, but Voldemort remains ever so polite and reserved. 'I trust our arrangement still stands,' he says, while Maglor's eyes widen upon noticing the necklace and said Amulet around my neck.

'Naturally,' replies Maglor absentmindedly to Voldemort. 'If I may?' he asks me, holding out his hand and I shrug in a casual, affirmative reply.

The elf takes a hold of the stone hanging on my neck, while retrieving an Elf Glass out of his pocket. He glances through the Glass meticulously for what seems like forever, before letting go of the stone and returning his attention to Voldemort.

'I see you fumbled around with the Amulet's powers,' Silimaurë says haughty.

'Is that going to be a problem?' Voldemort asks the elf calmly, while striding past him.

An amused and slightly mocking twinkle runs through Maglor's eyes upon hearing the obvious threat and he glances sideways at the Amulet for a second. 'Not to me,' he states lightly.

'Wonderful,' says Voldemort, swirling around, 'Now, if you'll excuse us, Miss Granger and I have a ceremony to attend to. I believe you know your way out of this castle?'

'Oh yes, that won't be any problem at all,' Maglor replies smiling.

Voldemort gives him a polite nod of goodbye.

'A pleasure,' Maglor says, nodding back to Voldemort, before turning around and kissing my hand to my utmost surprise.

'The Elders wanted me to let you know that you will always be welcomed back in Everon with the highest regards, Miss Granger,' Silimaurë says, making a small bow to me, and with a devious, Elfish wink he disappears with a loud crack.

I make a face in resentment; stupid Elves and their weird sense of humour. There really is no need for Maglor to remind me how unwelcome the Elders made me feel, while I was there. I have a perfectly fine memory of it and I honestly don't see the pun in reviving my recollection of their rudeness. Ah well, they probably think humans make strange jokes.

'Hermione?'

I look up and see Lord Voldemort holding out the door to the bedroom for me. 'You need to change into something a bit more appropriate, my dear,' he says smiling wickedly.

I check my appearance and I have to admit he is right, having been dumped into a sea, a lake and laid down on sandy rock's surface does not do wonders for ones state of presentably. So I march past him to change into another set of robes. I am rummaging through the wardrobe to get out my usual clothes, when I hear the amused cough behind me. An arm is placed around my waist and another shoves the black robes to the side to reveal an elegant, obviously expensive, green, satin gown. It has an asymmetric bodice with delicate, silvery embroidery on it and a long, wide, draped skirt that will probably fall beyond my ankles.

'I think this will do fine, darling,' Voldemort says and he pulls out the dress.

Oh terrific, so now everyone thinks they are a comedian. Nobody ever dresses up for the Sorting Ceremony. Not even Dumbledore did and he adored showing of his taste in colourful extravagant clothing. I will feel like I am on bloody display, which is … probably the point. I grunt incoherently at that thought and take the damn gown from Voldemort's hand to go change, knowing full well there is no point in arguing about it anyway. He really can act like such a spoilt, little child who always has to have his way.

'Something the matter, dear?' he asks teasing, while pulling me back against him.

'Original colour,' I reply sarcastic, lying the gown down on the bed beside me.

'I did consider red-and-gold for you, but it would have clashed with this lovely necklace, wouldn't you agree?' he says quietly, while he allows the cord of said necklace to glide casually through his fingers. 'Besides I am trying to get a point across to everyone in the Great Hall tonight and some of those morons out there simply lack the finesse to grasp anything that isn't painted out in clear pictures before them.'

'But you do consider them smart enough to grasp the symbolism you're trying to bestow upon me with this dress?' I sneer.

I can practically feel him smile from ear to ear. 'And what symbolism would I be bestowing on you, Hermione? Do tell.'

I growl in anger and frustration, and I feel his arms tighten around me. He is awaiting my response to what I assumed was a teasing, rhetorical question. Apparently, he wants to torment me some more by making me say it. Well, I have no problem with enlightening him on his ridiculous fixations, if he needs to hear it.

'That I am yours, the little personal doll you can dress up and play with. All under your control like you so desperately need everything to be. Well, feel free to live in fantasyland, Voldemort, because it is a chaotic world out there and those proper categories you try to place everything in will all come falling down on your head some day.'

'And who is going to see to that?' he replies amused. 'You?' he adds taunting. 'As you said, Hermione, you're mine to do with as I see fit. Tonight you will accompany me to the Great Hall and you will not disrespect me in any shape or form while we are in the presence of others. Any glance, non-verbal gesture, and attitude you show or syllable that you speak in there, that displeases me, will cost the life of one eleven year old. So I suppose it is up to you to decide whether this year the Hogwarts' Professors will require teaching first graders.'

And there he goes proving my point again; Mr I-Am-So-Insecure-I-Need-Everything-To-Be-Under-My-Control.

'Now, get dressed, darling. It would be cruel to keep all those hungry teenagers waiting for dinner.'

He lets go of me and swirls away, seating himself on the stool beside the dresser. I pick up the gown and walk to the bathroom, but the door is locked. You've got to be kidding me. How immature can one person get? And I glance sideways and see him sitting on the bloody stool with his arms folded over each other, leaning ever so comfortably against the wall. A very huge smirk is plastered on that no good face of his. I roll my eyes to the ceiling and start changing my clothes in the muggle manner, because the poor, little child that never had any toys is blocking my magic. When I am almost done, a pair of silver pumps appears magically before me. And I step into them, while I am wrestling with the damn zipper on my back. All of the sudden, I feel his hands on mine.

'Allow me,' he says softly.

I let go and he, slowly, zips up the gown. My stomach begins to twist and turn, and rather abruptly I feel extremely subconscious. His hands travel onward to my shoulders and he coaxes me to turn around. I notice he has somehow changed into a pair of black dress robes without me being aware of him doing so, but I am not looking at him. I find the wall far more interesting at the moment. However, I can still feel his gaze upon me as he takes in every detail of my appearance. Merlin, can the floor just swallow me whole, so I can die here right now, pretty please? Gently, his hand is taking a hold of my chin and he lifts my head to face him. My mouth is suddenly incredibly dry, I feel my throat constricting and my chest actually hurts from the continued holding in of my breath. My eyes meet his and I feel like running towards the nearest exit.

'You are absolutely gorgeous, Hermione,' Voldemort says reassuringly.

I let out a breath in relieve, and then … scold myself for doing so. Why am I acting like an idiot here? It's not like it matters what he thinks! All he wants is a ridiculous trophy on his arm. Hooray! I am one of his collections. So it honestly doesn't matter how I look. Perhaps I can hook some toilet paper behind the heel of my shoe and tow it along the Great Hall after me. I think that will undo the effect he is trying to accomplish quite wonderfully. Gosh, I really wish he'll stop staring so possessively at me. It gives me the creeps.

He strokes my cheek with the palm of his hand. 'We still have to do something about that hair of yours,' he says softly.

I sigh in annoyance. This is going to take forever.

'You should have thought of that beforehand,' I say irritated. ' _This_ ,' and I point with my hand to my huge bundle of frizz, 'takes hours in taming even a little bit. Especially after it has been in contact with water,' I add smirking, mighty pleased about the irony of the latter.

An amused quirk of his eyebrows is followed by a snort and he leans forward as he tells me smoothly it is not my hair that needs taming. Ha! Very funny. A flick of his wrist and a small silver snake appears in there.

'Your hair poses no challenge for me, Hermione. It just needs the right attributes to stay in line,' he says, holding up the silver snake snickering. 'Kind of like the person underneath,' he adds devious. He rests his hand with the silver item on my shoulder. 'Don't be alarmed.'

He hisses something, and suddenly, I shriek and practically jump ten feet into the air, because I feel something slither against my neck and disappear into my hair. Merlin, that thing is alive! It better not be poisonous. I just want to rub with my hands through my hair and get it, whatever it is, out of there, but I am just about able to resist the impulse and control myself. You never know, maybe it has fangs? I feel how the snake is moving my hair up and I can't see it, but I have a feeling it is without a doubt quite the creative little hair accessory. And it is such a nice asset to the Slytherin theme Voldemort is apparently going for tonight.

'Couldn't you have said something in advance?' I finally snarl, when my heartbeat has slightly returned to normal.

'I warned you not to be alarmed,' he says shrugging.

'And you suppose that covers it all?' I rebut indignant.

Well, I suppose it does, but really… don't be alarmed? I sniff arrogantly. You have to be a man to think that is warning someone about the reptile you're about to launch into their hair. And I walk past him to go into the bathroom, but the door is still locked.

'Searching for a new secret passageway to the Great Hall?' I hear him say joyous.

'No, just trying to keep this carpet of yours from getting wet,' I respond equally cheerful, 'unless you rather have a mess in here? Then I can always oblige.'

'Now, she turns all submissive on me,' Voldemort exclaims dramatic.

Rather surprised at that humorous response I look at him, while he stops beside me and taps the door with his wand. Something is definitely off here.

'I wouldn't get all used to it, if I were you,' I say cheeky.

He smiles, and for a brief moment, I think I see something dark inside those crimson eyes of his, but it must be a trick of the light.

'I would never be so foolish to do so, dear,' he says softly. 'Don't be long.'

Lord Voldemort swirls out of the bedroom in a whoosh of darkness and I stare in astonishment at the door that closes behind him. That man never ceases to amaze me. Just when you think you can about begin to predict what he is going to do next he goes all … whatever on you. Merlin, he definitely has the most abrupt mood swings I ever witnessed on anyone. No wonder Harry went absolutely barking mad during our fifth year. Having that in your head; brrrr… And I shiver as I walk inside the bathroom.

My eyes dart back and forth between the dress and the toilet. Oh great, you can definitely tell that the people who design these dresses are doing so for them to be worn by a plastic puppet and not another human being. As I pull up the yards and yards of fabric I remind myself not to eat and drink much this evening. I definitely don't want to have to go through this again. I sigh exaggeratingly when I finally am able to sit down without having dropped a single piece of fabric in the lavatory.

My mind dwells back inside that cave and the sudden desperation that shined through Voldemort's eyes when he yelled at me to stop. For a moment there I thought he was going to lose it completely. I don't think I have ever witnessed that much despair in anyone. He hid it quickly behind that cool and collective mask afterwards, but I know what I saw. Well, Professor Snape had at one time told me, I was an insufferable Know-It-All. However, I had no idea I was this bad. I snicker softly. My wonderful personality is driving the most evil wizard of all time over the edge. I begin to shake with laughter. Perhaps I shall nag to him about every detail that is listed in Hogwarts: A History? I can always bug him by saying it clearly states that the Dark Arts are prohibited to be used on these premises. Hahahaha! Oh my god, this is so not funny at all.

I still don't get how I remained so calm inside, while I was obviously the cause of a tremendous amount of despair in someone so dangerous and powerful. I actually felt sorry for him. Can you believe it? Well, that was right before he practically cut off all the circulation to my hands, but still, the man threw me of a cliff and I felt sorry for him. I must be losing my mind too. He doesn't deserve forgiveness or compassion and I doubt he wants to receive it. Ha! Even if he did… well, let's just say he let the wrong person of our trio live for that. Harry might have been able to do it, but I can't. I am not that good. It's true what Yoda said. I have darkness inside of me and it is a vengeful one. Do not touch the people I care about, because I have claws and I strike back. Draco, Rita, Marietta and Umbridge are all great testimonies to that.

Especially, the last one is a good example. It wasn't just Harry she hurt. I remember very clearly how many tiny first years I had to comfort with Murtlap Syrup, because nobody did a damn thing about it. As a prefect I felt obliged to report the tortures to McGonagall, and when that turned out ineffective, I bothered Dumbledore himself with it, but he did nothing. So I led that unbelievable, foul bitch into the Forbidden Forest, because I wanted that toad-face to die, die, and die some more. And if only Dumbledore wouldn't have interfered with my revenge I would have succeeded, but no… he had to stick his big nose into it. So now, Miss Dolores Jane Umbridge is still tormenting others underneath the protective umbrella of the government, instead of being six feet under the ground where she should be.

By Godric, I hate that woman; I really, truly and utterly hate that woman. Really, Voldemort is so wasting his time by trying to sway me in the manner that he does. He'll only have to dangle the prospect of seeing her suffer in front of my nose. I'll jump at the chance. Hell, I'll go all _'My Lord'_ and _'Master'_ on him for that. Just for the opportunity to witness that annoyingly sweet and false laugh being wiped off the face of that despicable creature forever. I am still relishing in the visual as I flush the lavatory and walk to the sink. One day I will pay that woman back for every single person she hurt and she will regret ever crossing my path.

A sharp pain stabs straight into my heart and I fall on top of the sink; clutching at my chest. Images flash before my very eyes; some very foul images of the pain I caused others. A strange mist swirls around and Yoda appears, but his face is distorted and his voice seems almost demonic.

' _You are falling into darkness … and you will never come back from it … not in the way you were.'_

A cackling laugh impacts on my eardrums and I look for the source, but I seem to be unable to find it in this mist. Rotting corpses everywhere, people screaming in pain and terror, and in the middle of it all, I find its origin. A dark, triumphant figure stands on an incline. The figure turns toward me. A hood flies off to reveal a cackling, madly laughing face; my face. I stagger back in fright. No… this is Voldemort's doing. It has to be, but it laughs and it speaks with my voice.

' _You did it, Hermione,' it shrieks victorious, 'you got rid of him.'_

I stumble over a rotting corpse. It smells horrific and must have been dead for ages, now. I glance at it, afraid of what I may find, and my breath freezes inside my throat. For I see snakelike features and two crimson eyes that are vacant, empty and abandoned of all life.

' _It will never end with revenge; never,' my dark self shrieks mocking. 'But it sure as hell ended for him. I won and vengeance is mine; all mine!'_

'NO!' I scream in desperation, while my other self laughs beyond recognition. And a dark mist overtakes all.

'No, no, no,' I hear myself mutter repeatedly, while I clutch to the sink.

The sink! I look around disoriented. I am in the bathroom. I am in the bathroom. It wasn't real. It wasn't real. I sigh in relieve, pushing myself upward and looking in the mirror at my reflection. It didn't happen; none of it happened. None of it must ever happen. I can't believe myself. I lectured Lord Voldemort only hours ago on how revenge keeps the pain alive and destroys everything. And here I am relishing in the prospect of getting mine on Umbridge. Oh Godric, I was even mad at Dumbledore for saving my skin, because if _Darling Dolores_ would have died that day, I would have been lost permanently. I feel so much pain and remorse over my thoughts and actions, that I can't stand to look at my reflection anymore and I turn away in shame. Merlin, I am just like him.

' _No, you're not,' a soft male voice says calm._

A bright light shines behind me and I turn upon hearing that familiar voice. Whiteness all around and inside the mirror I see a very familiar face with messy black hair, sparkling emerald green eyes and a lighting bolt scar on his forehead smile at me reassuring.

'Harry?' I whisper and I reach out to touch the mirror.

He matches my move and our hands meet at the smooth, shiny surface.

' _Hi Hermione,' he replies._

'Are you really there?'

' _Probably not,' answers Harry, frowning. 'But you needed me, so…'_

'Oh,' I reply disappointed. This is all in my head. I am making this up.

' _We're all here for you, Hermione,' Harry continues. 'Remember that.'_

The white mist around him clears up and everyone is there. So what if this is all in my head; I'm finally seeing them again. Ron is standing next to Harry and he is looking at me beaming and proud. _'You can do this,' Ron says._

I see Ginny, who is waving at me vigorously and so are Mr and Mrs Weasley. I wave back slightly bemused. _'Out of the way, bro,' George says to an objecting Ron._

' _Yes, we have important business to relay to Hermione,' Fred adds, shoving Ron and Harry to the background._

' _Very important business,' George says in an affirmative manner to Fred. 'You remember Hogwarts and our final…'_

'… _most productive year there?' Fred adds devious. He is finishing George's sentence in the manner they always seem to communicate._

' _Now, inside the Room of Requirement…' George continues._

'… _we might have left, totally by accident of course, a few items behind that…' says Fred._

'… _could be of use to future students or other rule breakers, who might want to…' says George._

'… _have some fun. Let's say you're in desperate need of a transportable swamp…' Fred adds and he waves his hands around like he is displaying the item before me._

' _Or you need to annoy someone with a smell that never goes away?' George replies beaming at Fred._

' _Firecrackers that multiply…' Fred suggests._

' _A nasty itch at the most inappropriate body parts…' George says devious._

' _Obnoxious things that go bump in the night…' Fred snickers._

' _You two are not helping,' hisses Percy and he grabs the mischievous twin by their collars and pulls them back. They are still shouting possibilities to me, while Percy drags them away, lecturing them on proper behaviour._

And I laugh out loud. They really are one of a kind. It's when Albus Dumbledore steps into view.

'Nice outfit, sir,' I blurt out, while I am still laughing inside over the twin's suggestions.

He merely chuckles and strokes with his hands affectionately across his colourful, velvet overcoat.

' _How are you doing, Miss Granger?' he asks somewhat formal._

I shrug in response. I really don't know how I am doing. I've had this fine revelation of being Voldemort's magical counterpart; after which I've been tortured, dumped off a cliff and saw images of myself as some dark witch. Gosh, I must be fine.

' _I believe you have something to discuss with Mr Malfoy,' Dumbledore says and his blue eyes sparkle with that oh so famous twinkle of his. 'Mr Potter and Mr Weasley are currently in the process of convincing him to come over.'_

_Dumbledore steps aside, but the mirror remains empty. Suddenly, a very reluctant Draco stumbles into view, having obviously been pushed over there by a certain red head, because I can recognise Ron's hands anywhere. The blond folds his arms over each other and turns slightly away from me. And I hear angry voices come from within the mist._

' _Behave Ferretboy,' Ron hisses threatening. 'My wand is working properly now, so you'll be the one eating the slugs this time around.'_

' _Ron,' Harry says warningly, 'this is between Hermione and Draco.'_

' _I'm merely pointing out it is in his best interest…'_

'How is your mother?' I ask Draco, ignoring the other two voices that slowly disappear into the background. 'I never had the chance to properly thank her.'

' _She is fine,' he replies shortly._

'I'm glad to hear that,' I say and it becomes silent again. I feel incredibly uncomfortable about this. I never had to engage in small talk with Draco Malfoy of all people. And I don't know how to introduce this properly, so I just blurt it out. 'I'm sorry,' I say.

I see his grey eyes flash furiously towards me. Well, I wasn't expecting an absolution from him.

' _Well, you're forgiven then, Granger,' he snarls, glancing back into the mist apprehensively._

_I see Ron step forward; his hand is firmly clutched around his wand, but Harry pulls him back into the mist abruptly, telling him once more not to interfere._

'You don't have to forgive me,' I reply quietly.

' _You damn right I don't … I hope you rot in hell, Mudblood,' Draco hisses in spite. 'I hope the Dark Lord makes you crawl on your knees for an eternity. I don't care that you're the last hope out there. I hope you suffer beyond your wildest dreams for what you did to me that day.'_

I nod understandingly. 'Well, then you've got your wish,' I say calm, allowing him this triumph.

And for a brief moment we stare at each other. A vicious smirk is his response and he seems positively delighted as he paces away. I merely shake my head in sadness. That boy, man, will never change an inch and he will never learn.

' _Don't let that prick get to you Hermione,' Ron says._

I smile at him and Harry. They've stepped back into view. My two best friends are here, and yet, they are not.

'He has every right to hate me,' I say to them. 'I just wish he would realise he is only hurting himself by doing so.'

' _What did you do?' Harry asks softly._

So I tell them about Draco and every other vengeful dark thing I ever did. All those secrets I kept for so many years; my true motives for leading Umbridge into the woods that day; the fact that the spots on Marietta Edgecombe's face were the result of a Dark Arts Curse I found in the Restricted Section; and how much true darkness rests deeply inside of me. Ron is beginning to deny my assessments, but I see Harry is listening attentively, so I continue. I tell them how I got so lost in darkness that I once cast the Killing Curse at Yoda, because he aggravated me. And how I, despite all the warnings not to leave, went away anyway and used said Unforgivable again.

' _You tried to kill Voldemort!' Ron shouts. 'Nobody can hold that against you. They should be cheering you on.'_

'I can hold it against myself, Ron,' I reply to his indignant form. 'I know how much of a lure the Dark Arts have on me, and yet, I do not refrain from using them, even though I know what I can become in doing so. I am the wrong person here, Harry. I am not good enough to do this.'

' _I have never been a saint myself,' Harry replies smiling at me. 'I used the Cruciatus Curse quite effectively on Amycus Carrow.'_

' _Ha! See!' says Ron triumphant and he slaps Harry on the back. 'No harm done.'_

I smile caringly at Ron's enthusiasm and total lack in understanding. He will never get it, but as I look at Harry I see he does. Well, he should.

'You've carried Voldemort around with you, Harry, and you were still able to make the right choices most of the time. I don't know if I have your strength.'

_Harry sighs. 'You're stronger than you think, Hermione. Look at everything you've been through. So you made a few bad choices in the past, but you haven't succumbed to darkness. You've fought it off. You made the choice not to delve into them and remained a part of the light. You need to forgive yourself for the mistakes you made and move on. Only you can do that.'_

I feel tremendously blessed with the two best friends that ever walked on this earth. They didn't condemn me as I thought they would. I should have known they wouldn't let me down. I should have known it is my own condemnation I need to deal with. I smile at them.

'I love you both,' I say caringly.

' _And we all love you,' Harry says._

Too briefly, I see them all again, waving and smiling at me, and I wave back feeling loved beyond believe as their images slowly dissipates and my reflection returns in the mirror before me. I watch myself for a while and feeling stronger than ever, I exit the bathroom right about the same time as Voldemort re-enters the bedroom. He halts in the doorway, looking even taller and more intimidating in those dress robes. His intense gaze falls upon me.

'I got worried you might have been trying to drown yourself in there,' he says smirking, holding out the door for me.

I raise my eyebrows as I walk towards him. 'Why don't you try using the lavatory in this dress?' I say in jest.

'I sincerely believe it will be a waste of the gown, if anyone else beside you wears it, Hermione. You look absolutely magnificent in it,' he says suavely.

I halt beside him and he is waiting for my reply to his statement expectantly. Voldemort knows very well I don't want to be the centre of attention like this. And I am certain he is trying to unnerve me with these comments. So I let my eyes dart up and down his body deliberately. I tilt my head and give him a sugary smile. Two can play this game.

'Those dress robes make you look mighty dashing yourself,' I say with a sly wink.

Quickly, I walk on, enjoying myself a lot, because the brief astonished expression on his face is priceless. I want to imprint that into my memory permanently, since seeing it is a rather rare sight. The walk down is impressively quiet from thereon. We have almost made it completely down the stairs, when Alecto Carrow comes speeding towards us.

'My Lord,' she says panting, dropping down on her knees. 'We've waited with the sorting ceremony on your arrival as you requested.'

Oh my, did that woman just make the mistake in calling Lord Voldemort late? This is going to get very interesting.

'That is incredibly accommodating of you, Alecto,' Voldemort says in a honeyed tone of voice.

Like I said; interesting. And I see the eyes of the female Death Eater widen upon realising the error she made. 'I didn't … Master … I…' she stutters, but she halts when Voldemort raises his hand.

'Spare me those feeble attempts of apologising, Alecto. And get on your feet,' he orders shortly. 'I believe you haven't had the pleasure of meeting Miss Hermione Jean Granger yet?'

Carrow scrambles back up on her stubby, little legs, before she throws the expected, disgusted glance in my direction. Well, we are talking about _'Professor'_ Alecto Carrow; the so called expert in muggles these days. I doubt it escaped her attention that I am a Muggle-born witch.

'Now, now, Alecto,' Voldemort says admonitory. 'Miss Granger is here as my guest. So where are those famous Carrow manners I heard so much about?' he says ironically and he folds his arms over each other in clear anticipation.

Alecto's beady eyes are darting between me and Voldemort nervously. It's obvious she has no idea how to react to this situation and she is definitely searching for clues to what the Dark Lord is truly expecting from her right now. I notice her eyes are checking Voldemort's posture and expression for something that can enlighten her on what response will be considered correct by him, but he is not helping her out with that cool, blank façade and that neutral posture he is maintaining at the moment.

Now, she is taking in the gown I am wearing and my demeanour, but that seems to confuse her only more. I try to remain as neutral as I possibly can, despite my obvious dislike for someone who feels the need to compare muggles as my parents to… What was it Neville said again? Oh yeah, stupid and dirty animals. However, I don't want Voldemort to start killing off innocent, eleven years olds for some cheeky response of mine that he may perceive as offensive to himself. So I bite my tongue, but there is this tiny, devious voice inside of me that hopes she will say something demeaning to me.

'Perhaps those manners have skipped a generation?' Voldemort notes taunting and he glances amused at the now totally pale Death Eater who doesn't know what to do anymore.

Voldemort, apparently, decides that waiting for a response is an utter waste of his time and he steps forward and moves past her, ignoring her completely. Alecto is scratching her neck, still baffled and uneasy with the situation. Eventually, she recognises the dismissal and hurries off to grace the soon to be sorted, poor children with her presence.

'Hermione,' Voldemort says calm and he motions me to go to the staff entry doors of the Great Hall.

When we've reached the doors, I take a hold of the handle, but Voldemort places his hand on the door preventing me from opening it. I glance sideways questionably, but he is glaring at the moving figure of Alecto and is not saying anything to me. So I let go of the handle and wait. My stomach is hurting, I feel a headache coming up and I am somewhat nauseous. I can't wait for this evening to be over and done with. In a couple of moments I am going to see some very familiar faces again and I am not looking forward to those stares and questionable glances. Alecto's footsteps hurry around the corner and Voldemort looks back at me. His hand touches my cheek.

'You did well with Alecto. I trust I don't have to remind you what is at stake here?' he says quietly and ever so threatening.

I shake my head slightly in response and swallow down the huge lump that was forming back in my throat. Subconsciously, I rub my hands over the dress, because my palms feel mighty sweaty. Merlin, I am so damn anxious. I'd rather be dumped off a cliff right about now. Well, maybe that is a bit exaggeratingly, but… you get the drift. Voldemort is narrowing his eyes at me and he places his hand in my neck.

'Try and relax a bit, Hermione,' he says calm, rubbing my neck. 'Everyone will be quite safe as long as you show me respect tonight. Just follow my lead and let me handle matters if there are any complications. I promise; you will not be harmed in there.'

My safety isn't exactly what I am afraid for, but I nod nevertheless and Voldemort motions me to open the door. I take a deep breath and walk inside the Great Hall. I feel Voldemort's hand on the small of my back as he guides me in the right direction. Immediately upon our entrance, everyone stands up from their seat to pay their respects to Lord Voldemort. Every eye in the room is focused on our location. I notice shock, disbelieve, disgust and glee, but even some worried looks are cast in my direction.

All kind of emotions seem to whirl around in the minds of those present upon noticing me, but my eyes fall upon the teacher's table or what seems to be the teacher's and Death Eater's table these days. For Voldemort's cronies sure have made themselves comfortable up there. They seem a lot more at ease being there at the moment than the teachers. I remember a lot of them, because only Minerva McGonagall, Pomona Sprout and Hagrid went down fighting. The rest of the staff saved their skins quite adequately. If everybody would have fought more in unison we might have been able to keep Voldemort at bay, but Harry's death followed by Neville's brutal torture caused a huge rift between the already feeble alliances that were formed earlier that night.

The shiny, bald head of Horace Slughorn sticks out the most on that table. His prominent eyes practically fall out of their sockets upon noticing me and I can see the wheels inside his mind rotating. Probably trying to figure out whether this can benefit him in some manner. I have never seen anyone change sides faster than Slughorn. He decided it was no use to fight anymore long before Voldemort had retaken Hogwarts. Trelawney is sitting right next to him and I can't really blame her for being here. That is just due to Voldemort and his stupid obsession with prophecies. A smile forms on my face as I remember how Sybill swirled those enormous crystal spheres around and kept on throwing them, until they stunned her. She seems to be in her usual, intoxicated state though. I wonder how many sherry bottles will end up in the Room of Requirement this evening.

We pass them all relatively quickly and Voldemort is moving to the large Headmaster's chair, which is flanked by Bellatrix Lestrange and Lucius Malfoy. Now, what the hell is he expecting me to do? Stand? Sit on the ground? I glance back at him, puzzled, but he only smiles and pulls me down in the chair with him. Oh terrific, I get to be his little lapdog. The impulse to fight his behaviour is large, but his gaze reminds me of the threat he uttered beforehand and I know it's not an empty one. So I remain seated and look around the Hall. I notice everyone has sat down after Voldemort took his seat, and he motions casually with his hand to Amycus Carrow to continue, before wrapping his arm back around my waist and pulling me close. I see Lestrange's jaw drop slightly at this move and her dark, heavy-lidded eyes are glaring at me with bottled-up anger and a badly covered up emotion that is definite envy. I'm certain that if looks could kill, I'd be as dead as her late husband right about now. This is going to be a long evening.

Amycus Carrow is incredibly boring as he goes on and on and on about the rules and regulations of Hogwarts. And I have to stifle a yawn, before my minds wanders off to events earlier that day. It's been a weird, dreadful, but also informative day. Voldemort told me something about his past that I doubt he has ever told another human being. It's quite sad actually. I wouldn't have wanted to live in those days and be dependent on charity. It must have been quite grim to live in an orphanage in the nineteen-thirties, and then to have someone, twice your age, attack you in that manner. I shiver.

A breath brushes my ear. 'Cold?' Voldemort whispers, taking a hold of my hand and rubbing it gently.

I shake my head in denial. 'I'm fine,' I reply softly.

'I can always warm you up a bit,' he whispers snickering. 'But if you're fine…'

And he leaves it at that; thank Merlin. Carrow is still going on about everything prohibited in the corridors and on the grounds. Filch must be utterly thrilled with this idiot running things. His speech is so totally uninteresting to listen to and I automatically fall back into dwelling on the information of Voldemort's past that I haven't had a chance to properly assess, yet.

Still, I already knew his childhood hadn't been easy, but that he got assaulted as a young boy was definitely something that escaped Dumbledore's attention. Voldemort told me in great detail how he managed to evade and even push Dennis off magically most of the times, even though he was unaware he was a wizard himself. And I was quite shocked to hear all the stuff he was already capable of performing deliberate and consciously at that young an age. But he hadn't succeeded to stop Dennis all the time.

And he informed me how some of that lack of success was due to the fact that he had to hide his abilities from Mrs Cole, whom was already suspicious of his person after the Billy Stubbs' rabbit incident and whom did not like him at all. It seems the woman who ran the orphanage was clever enough not to trust young Tom one single bit and he knew it. I could tell by the way Voldemort spat out her name. Too bad Mrs Cole didn't see through Bishop's not so fine character either, because I think Dennis managed to do even more damage on an already pretty disturbed boy to begin with.

It's when Voldemort told me in great detail how he came up with the idea to use the annual trip as a means to make certain Bishop would never harass him again. It turns out little Amy Benson's presence was just a mere bonus; the icing on the cake. Tom had travelled the seaside on his own in the years before Dennis Bishop arrived at the orphanage. It's how he knew the cave was there. A place, where he could do what he wanted to do to Bishop, undisturbed. Voldemort told me that he was always doing things on his own, so no one felt it was strange that he wandered off again. From what I gather, none of the other children or adults would have minded to be rid of Tom for a few moments either. So without Mrs Cole's prying, meddling eyes interfering in his business he got more than even. Or so Voldemort spat out.

And I do understand the desire for revenge, I truly do. But what he did to those two at age seven is unbelievable. It's sick and disturbing beyond believe. I can see why Mrs Cole said to Dumbledore that Amy and Dennis never were the same again after their trip with Tom. I sincerely doubt they ever completely recovered from that. The problem with it all is that little Tom picked up all the wrong things from those events. Only rely on yourself, never seek help and get even whenever you can. I haven't said it to him at the time, because I didn't want to interrupt his sudden streak of openness, but Bishop's routine in charming the adults to think he was harmless reminds me a lot of Riddle's routine in charming the Professors at Hogwarts. And then there was little Amy who managed to blame others for her actions, because she was such a beautiful, innocently appearing girl. And all I see is Rubeus Hagrid who got expelled from Hogwarts, because Tom Riddle told on him. Why can't that man ever pick up anything positive from another? He is so damn good at mimicking the bad stuff.

Finally, the Sorting Hat is brought out. I wonder how he fixed it after burning it into a crisp on Neville's head. Perhaps it wasn't really destroyed? Maybe Godric Gryffindor charmed it to protect it against attacks? Who knows? Oh look, it's the yucky Carrow woman with the scroll. Poor children. Having to be sorted with that standing next to you.

We're a long way into the sorting ceremony, when the first Gryffindor is sorted and a tiny boy jumps of the stool and walks to his House table under much more scrutiny than the others who got sorted. I'm beginning to see why Voldemort reinstated the Houses after he first got rid of all evidence the other three Founders ever existed. The sorting procedure sure is a perfect way in detecting possible threats early on.

'Eliza Smith,' Alecto Carrow calls out.

There is no movement among the group remaining. Carrow coughs and shuffles on her feet and calls out the name again, but nobody steps forward and Carrow moves on to the next name.

'Looks like some Hufflepuffs have been foolish, my Lord,' Bella whispers, pleased. 'I will be delighted to explain to them that absence is not tolerated.'

'No, thank you, Bella,' Voldemort says dismissive, 'I will reserve that pleasure for myself. Besides, don't you have baby business to attend to?' he adds mocking.

'My Lord, I will never let anything get in the way of serving you,' Bella replies indignant. 'My children are born so they can follow your lead.'

Gosh, I really have to bite my tongue now. Little eleven year olds, little eleven year olds… I just need to repeat that in my mind over and over again, before I do something incredibly irresponsible. Bellatrix is still watching Voldemort hopeful for a positive response on her declaration of servitude of her children, but it remains awfully quite behind me. I see how she is slowly turning red in the face and I sense no positive vibes whatsoever coming from the person she wants to receive them from. Finally, Voldemort deals another blow to Bella's ego.

'I hope their hearing is not as impaired as yours and Rodolphus's, then. I'll be so disappointed, if I will have to deal with another couple of morons who seem to think my orders are only to be followed when it is convenient for their own benefit.'

'Master?'

'I am neither blind nor deaf, Bella. You've allowed your own emotions towards Miss Granger to cloud your judgement. I have no use for servants who can't obey orders,' he adds menacingly.

Bella's eyes widen considerably. 'But … but Master,' she stutters. 'The girl…'

Voldemort interrupts her before she can finish her sentence and I am beginning to get the impression he is trying to trigger something here. He has never humiliated Bellatrix Lestrange in front of me before. What is he getting at?

'You've been disloyal to me, Bella. Now, I have let it slide this once, because I trust you will not make it a reoccurring event. Next time I will not be so kind.'

If that wasn't a threat, then I don't know what is.

'We only sought after your interest, my Lord. The girl is beneath you and she insulted you,' Bella adds, desperate to lay the blame elsewhere.

Voldemort takes a hold of my head and turns it towards him. I see the excited, utterly gleeful expression on Bella's face, when she thinks he is going to hurt me. My chest is constricting in fear as he cups my cheek and gazes down at me. 'If Miss Granger here insults me, Bella,' he replies, looking straight into my eyes, 'I will deal with her personally. Or are you suggesting I require your assistance in punishing her?'

Bella stutters something completely incomprehensible.

'I thought not,' Voldemort says coldly to her. Apparently, he was able to make heads and tails of that muttering.

All the while, he keeps staring into my eyes, caressing my skin lightly. 'But I do not require punishing her,' he continues quietly and his gaze turns quite intense, 'because unlike you lot, she has the intelligence to listen to my orders and follow them.'

I hear the underlying threat in that sentence and I feel his fingers move tighter around the back of my head as he moves toward me. Oh no, he is not going to kiss me in front of everybody, is he? I really can't… And his lips are on mine, his arms tighten around me and he moves his tongue inside of my mouth forcefully. I register Lestrange's gasp and the chair that falls backward, when she jumps on her feet.

'She is a Mudblood!' Bella shrieks outraged and thoroughly frantic.

Lord Voldemort smiles on my mouth. He flicks his wrist to make his wand appear and a split-second later Bellatrix is on the floor screaming in agony, while he is still kissing me. It seems someone is able to multitask. Suddenly, he swirls me around and I land with my back in the seat, while he is on his feet prowling around Lestrange. The people who sat next to Lestrange have scattered away to safer grounds and are standing at the end of the podium monitoring the events in front of there eyes fearfully.

And I sit there frozen still, while Lord Voldemort demonstrates his abilities in front of the entire student body and everyone else present. Lestrange twitches, writhes and curls in impossible angles and her screams are devastating. And he is standing there, quite calmly, waving his wand ever so casually at one of his most loyal followers, merely to get the point across that I am not to be touched, that I am his and they just have to accept that fact. He had to be counting on Bella to react in this manner. This has been his plan all along.

Finally, after a dreadfully long time Bellatrix Lestrange collapses and dies in a horrific manner. Voldemort lowers his wand satisfied and he starts to speak very softly, but there isn't a single soul inside the Great Hall that doesn't hear him. 'Miss Granger belongs to me now, and I won't tolerate any more disrespect to her as I will tolerate towards myself. This is what happens to those who think they can question my judgement and disobey me.'

He swirls around and holds out his hand to me. I shouldn't take it. I shouldn't allow him to win this, but I am stuck. He set me up and cornered me perfectly; just like he did with Bella. So I accept his outstretched hand, because I have no choice. His other hand comes to rest possessively on my back again. 'Lucius.'

'Yes, Master,' Lucius says bowing down in fright, while knowing full well he is the only one of the trio still alive.

'Make certain the Lestrange children are well taken care of.'

'Yes, Master,' Malfoy responds, relieved he is not cursed into oblivion. 'I will see to it immediately.'

And Voldemort guides me out of there. It isn't until we've reached the privacy of his living room that I open my mouth. 'You're mad; crazy,' I mumble.

He twirls me around. 'Am I, Hermione?' he says smiling.

'You do realise this can backfire on you severely,' I reply, shaking my head in disbelieve over everything that just transpired. 'Everyone out there knows how devoted Bellatrix Lestrange was to you.'

'Is that concern for my wellbeing there?' he asks amused.

'Not particularly,' I say abrupt. 'You set me up. You planned this.'

He smirks. 'And it worked out so perfectly,' he says tilting his head. 'I knew Bella would go into one of her delusional, jealous fits, if I kissed you in front of her. No one will dare to get near you now, Hermione Granger. Cursing Bella showed them all to what lengths I am willing to go, when it comes down to protect my property. I must say I do regret losing such a valuable and skilful follower, but she would never have accepted you, a Muggle-born witch, at my side.'

'So you killed her, because she thoroughly believed in that bullshit propaganda you preach around!' I say, outraged at his reasoning.

'Just because you are the exception to the rule, doesn't mean I am mistaken, Hermione. Besides I killed her, because she disobeyed my orders, because she would have remained a constant threat to me. You understand I have to take precautions now that it appears people can curse me by targeting you,' Voldemort says quietly.

My mouth stands slightly ajar and I can feel nothing but astonishment and it must be visible all over my face, but I just can't believe this … this total disregard of another human life. The casual manner in which he disposed of Bellatrix Lestrange shows the total and utter lack of concern or respect he holds others in, even those who will follow him to hell and back again. And I shouldn't be surprised, but I still am. He killed others; others far more precious and close to me. I never liked Bellatrix Lestrange and I am not sorry she is gone, but still the manner and reason as to why… This… this bothers me severely. It is all so cold and calculative.

'She and the others would never have cursed me, if they knew they were hitting you,' I say softly and sorrowful.

'So you think I should have enlightened them on a possible weakness?' he snarls. 'Perhaps even pray they won't find some means to use you against me? As long as you continue to resist me Hermione, I can't allow you to use your powers to their full extend, and as long as you can't use your powers, we both are vulnerable to attacks.'

'You think Bellatrix Lestrange would have attacked you? She worshipped the very ground you walk on!' I say stupefied over this ridiculous paranoia.

'People talk; they let things slip. And before you know it, those who call themselves your friends will turn on you. You can never trust another with your vulnerabilities. Never! It will be used against you, and you will be taken advantage of!' he shouts furious and his hands are clenched into fists.

'Oh, let me guess, another sob story of your dreadful childhood,' I sneer, ignoring his obvious fury, because now, I feel pretty pissed off myself. 'Well, you know what, Riddle, there are more people out there, who didn't have it easy when they were children. But I don't see them all turning into megalomaniacal, world conquering, power-hungry, uncaring bastards.'

It falls silent upon my words and I know I've crossed the line. I close my eyes and wait for whatever curse is going to impact upon me, but a second later a door slams shut forcefully, making me jerk in fear upon the sudden noise and I open my eyes to a completely empty living room. He left. He actually left. Undoubtedly, he is going to stick his head in the sand again and take it out on some poor defenceless person. The Smiths come to mind.

'Coward!' I yell at the door, frustrated, because I know my own words have just set me back significantly.

Why do I always blurt out everything? And I grab the vase on the table and throw it to the door. It crashes into a million pieces, but that doesn't relieve my anger one single bit. I growl and fall back into the soft cushions on the sofa. This certainly is one hell of a day. I look down at the Amulet that hangs on my neck. I can't believe he found it. He is going to heal his soul and then rip it apart again for his brainless immortality fetish. Why did the Elves help him locate this? And how on earth did I manage to get inside that cave? It bothers me severely that I can't come up with a single idea as to how I did that. I mean, I got in there once; I must be able to think of the solution to this problem again. But the more I think about it, the more I realise I had no way in there. Unless … but I couldn't have … I wouldn't have … No.

I stare at the ceiling, absentmindedly. Is it possible that I did that? If so … then maybe I have a chance to get rid of this item once more, right underneath Voldemort's very absent nose. I snort as I realise that statement is true in so many ways. Well, I suppose there is no harm in finding out, if I did it like that.

'Kreacher!' I call out.

Crack. And the House-elf appears out of nowhere before me. His bat-like ears are pointing upward in great anticipation and his bloodshot eyes seem to be monitoring me excitedly.

'Does Master Harry Potter's friend require Kreacher's help again?' croaks Kreacher in his bullfrog's voice.

Oh no, he said again. I did it. 'Kreacher, do you recognise this?' I ask the House-elf and hold up the Amulet.

Kreacher gasps. 'Kreacher did as Mistress Hermione Granger asked,' he squeaks. 'Kreacher hid the Amulet of Aine in the basin in the cave he went to with Master Regulus. Kreacher has not told a soul wh…'

'I know, I know,' I hastily interrupt the now completely, frantic House-elf. 'I am not blaming you. Vol…'

The House-elf shrinks several inches in fright, and his huge ears drop, as I am about the say the name of the man who murdered practically all his previous Masters. So I correct myself quickly. 'You-Know-Who,' I say, feeling utterly ridiculous for doing so, 'has found the Amulet with the help of Maglor Silimaurë.'

Kreacher snorts indignant upon hearing the name of a distant relative. 'Everon Elves are not to be trusted, Mistress Hermione. They take no pride in a proper Elf's work.'

'Yeah,' I mutter not wanting to get entangled into that feud and my hands go to the lock of the necklace to take it off. 'Can you hide this Amulet some place safe, Kreacher?' I ask, 'some place where not even Everon Elves can find it?'

Kreacher's mouth broadens in sheer delight. 'It will be Kreacher's pleasure to hide this from Everon for Master Harry Potter's friend.'

'And it needs to be hidden from me and Vo… You-Know-Who too,' I add getting a bit heated, because I can't seem to get a grip on the tiny locking mechanism.

Kreacher nods happily. 'Kreacher knows just the place.'

'You'll need to disappear after you've hidden it, Kreacher. I won't be able to keep your involvement from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named again. I can't use magic right now, so I can't Obliviate this from my mind,' I say, while growling in frustration at the blasted lock. I am pretty certain my head has turned completely red now and I still haven't opened the thing.

'Kreacher can remove memory for Mistress if she pleases,' the House-elf offers enthusiastic.

'That sounds like a good idea, Kreacher,' I say and I drop the necklace in resignation. 'But can you first unlock this necklace for me. I seem to be unable to do so.'

I drop to my knees so Kreacher can reach it and he takes a hold of the necklace only to let go of it again. 'There is no more lock, Mistress Hermione.'

'What?' I say shocked and slightly disturbed.

'It is fused together,' Kreacher explains.

I growl and look at the necklace. Well, I suppose it seems long enough. I probably can just pull it over my head. I can't believe I didn't think of that, before I got all red in the face from trying to remove it the other way. I place my fingers underneath the silver cord and am about to pull it upward, when it suddenly slips out of my fingers on its own accord and I feel the damn necklace tighten around my neck. Oh shit.

'Get out of here, Kreacher,' I order panicking, when I hear a door being slammed open violently in the distance.

I hear the familiar crack and I am relieved that Kreacher has left for safer grounds. Stars are beginning the form in front of my eyes due to the necklace that is bloody strangling me. This really isn't my day. I feel I am gasping like a fish on land, since nothing is passing through my windpipe and I crash to the floor, unable to remain seated, about the same time Voldemort swirls inside the living room. When he squats beside me I see him shake his head somewhat disappointed.

'I had a feeling you might try something with that Amulet, Hermione, but I wasn't expecting it this soon,' Voldemort says evenly, while his hand touches my neck and the cord loosens immediately.

I gasp, take a deep breath and start coughing violently. Voldemort has grabbed my arm and is hauling me upward into a seated position. My hand goes to my throat that is aching severely and I can feel the imprint of the cord in my skin along with something wet that turns out to be my blood. I watch my hand in astonishment and my breath sticks in my still sore throat. I can't believe this is happening to me. I just can't. A rough pull on my arms and I am facing him again.

'Breathe, Hermione,' he orders, staring at me intently.

My body tries to breathe, but I don't want to. And somehow it seems like I still can't. My throat feels like it is in a permanent state of constriction. Lord Voldemort is now shaking me back and forth. I really don't want him touching me again. This is like the third time he has almost killed me today. I wish he will just get it right for once, so it will all be over and done with. I really want to die.

'Hermione, calm down,' I hear his annoyed voice say in the distance. 'Get a grip woman!'

This has to end. It just has to end. I want it to end, now! Oh God, someone make this end now. A slap in my face makes me take in a deep breath and I stare in total fury at the man before me.

'You!' I cough out and I start hitting him wherever I can.

Within seconds he overtakes me and I scream my lungs out in absolute despair. This is never going to end. I am stuck in this hellhole forever. Oh God, I just want to die. I close my eyes and feel my body trembling severely. My tears start flowing like crazy and as I cry out loud I feel his arms around me and he pulls me to his chest, holding me tightly.

'Please, just kill me, please,' I cry pleading.

'Shhhh…' he shushes me, while stroking my hair, 'you're going to be fine, darling. I've got you.'

'No, please. Please, I can't live like this.'

'It's alright,' he says soothing and he rocks me back and forth. 'Just lean on me, I'll take care of you.'

I bury my face in his robes and start crying my eyes out. His hand comes to rest on the back of my head and somehow his arms are comforting me. He is holding me and I cling to him for support. Suddenly, he lifts my chin and makes me look into his eyes. He is watching me expectantly.

'Allow me in, Hermione,' he says, consoling me. 'Allow me in and you won't have to live like this.'

Hopefully I stare at him. 'You will kill me?' I ask, seeking reassurance.

'I will make the pain go away. Let me in Hermione,' he repeats. 'It will all be over, I promise.'

I want it to be over. I really do. His lips brush mine and I close my eyes when we kiss ever so softly. He pulls away from the kiss and as I reopen my eyes I stare right in his. And he is giving me a caring look, while I lie in his arms. I can't break free from those eyes. I feel like I am falling right into them. They're so red. How can anyone have such red eyes? It's so unusual. And I am mesmerised by them.

'What do I do?' I ask in resignation.

'Give me control over your mind,' he whispers softly.

'How?' I respond whispering also.

'Close your eyes,' he commands.

And I comply and listen to that soothing voice. 'Let go of all thoughts, feelings and emotions.'

That sounds so familiar. I've done that a thousand times before. I can do that again. Finally, it's going to be over. It's what I really want. And I release my thoughts, feelings and emotions.

'Good,' he purrs, 'clear your mind and open it.'

I can practically dream that sentence so many times Yoda has spoken it, but then, it diverts after I opened my mind.

'Hear _me_.'

And I am slightly confused. That isn't what is supposed to come next.

'Feel _my_ emotions,' Voldemort continues.

Now, that doesn't sound like a swell idea, but then my pain is taken away and that feels blissful. And I feel nothing at first, total emptiness and then … darkness; unbelievable, all consuming darkness. Hatred, envy, cold determination, ambition, ruthlessness, cruelty, aggression, anger, dishonesty, insecurity, hypersensitivity, uncaring, denial, loneliness, desperation and fright; absolute and utter fright. It is fear beyond believe. I've never felt anything quite like it. Nobody can possibly live with fear like that. It's dreadful and it drags you down.

'Let them enter,' I hear his voice in the background, 'and feel _my_ magic run through your body.'

His darkness is beginning to fill me up. And I am shocked at feeling that much fear inside someone who instils so much of it on others, but I now know that his is the greatest angst of all. A sharp pain stabs into my heart and I realise I haven't felt a single positive thing coming from him. Not one. It's horrific and sad. So this is what an absence of love creates. He must feel so lost all the time, to be so unwanted, unloved … by everyone.

I've been so lucky and blessed to have such wonderful parents and friends who cared for me and loved me. Images of my childhood flash before my eyes and it makes me incredibly happy. And as love engulfs me, the darkness that began to consume me, is thrust out of me violently. The sheer force of it throws Voldemort and me across the room. I crash into the opposite wall and smile knowingly. For _I_ have nothing to fear. I can love.


	17. Chapter 17

**Spoilers:** All Harry Potter books, including Deathly Hallows.

 **Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Kate Bush's song text is also not mine.

 **Author's note:** Voldemort's POV.

* * *

**The Bittersweet Taste of Victory**

_It doesn't hurt me._

_Do you want to feel how it feels?_

_Do you want to know, know that it doesn't hurt me?_

_Do you want to hear about the deal that I'm making?_

_You, it's you and me._

_You don't want to hurt me._

_But see how deep the bullet lies._

_Unaware I'm tearing you asunder._

_There is thunder in our hearts._

_Is there so much hate for the ones we love?_

_Tell me, we both matter, don't we?_

_You, it's you and me._

Kate Bush, Running up that hill

**Chapter seventeen**

It is pain beyond believe, pain past endurance. Panting, Lord Voldemort clutches on to his head; wanting the pain to stop, willing the pain to stop, and ordering the pain to stop. He growls in fury. All he needs to do is concentrate. Concentrate and it will all go away. He knows this is true, but he seems to lack the ability at the moment.

'Focus damn it!' he shouts at himself.

Frustrated, he slams with his fist against the wall, but that action only achieves in sending a howling pain through his hand and does nothing for his ability to concentrate. Stars are beginning to twinkle in front of his eyes. No, no, no… he can not lose consciousness. And he wills them away. There are no stars. There are no stars. His will is greater than this pain. He is Lord Voldemort; he will not be overcome by this silly incident. Staggering, he gets to his feet and looks around the swirling living room. Furniture is dancing around, the walls are bellowing and the floor is moving like an ocean. He presses his eyelids together.

'Everything is standing still,' he orders.

He opens one eye. A potted plant flies by in a twirling motion and he closes his eye instantaneously. 'Potted plants do not fly on their own. Everything is standing still,' he tells himself forcefully again.

Somewhat anxiously, he checks his surroundings again and sighs relieved, when everything is where it should be. Only a pounding pain is still hammering through his skull and it seems the lighting in this room is way too bright. He flicks his wand at the torches; there, much better. See, all one needs to do is concentrate to overcome these whacky things. It's just a matter of having the power to do so.

And he watches the unconscious girl across the room. She is lying there, crumbled up in a heap against the opposite wall. He takes a step into Hermione's direction, but his step resonates inside his head and he halts immediately. Closing his eyes, he takes a deep breath in and out, before starting to walk again. A bit of pain will not stop him from doing what needs to be done. Finally, he reaches her and he squats down on his knees; only to grab a hold of the wall quickly, because everything starts to swirl again.

'Nothing is swirling,' he says angry with himself for his lack of control.

Eventually, the room becomes motionless again. Quickly, he checks Hermione's head. He saw how forcefully she hit the wall with it. And the blood, which is visibly splattered around, gives a good indication that something is definitely off. On the back of her head, he sees the origin of all the blood. The silver snake hairpin has broken into three pieces and the fragments are embedded into her skull, making them the cause of several nasty, open wounds there. He heals it swiftly, before turning her around. Though her breaths are shallow, he is relieved to see them. She'll live. And he strokes her face with his hand, until his eyes fall on the cause of all this: the Amulet of Aine.

He takes a hold of the emerald stone and glares at it ferociously. He was so close. She would have succumbed to him where it not for this horrific piece of Elfin made junk. He can't believe he had not considered this problem in advance. Lord Voldemort does not make mistakes like these and he shakes his head in disappointment. He had overlooked a vital issue in his hurry to heal his soul without having to deal with the nasty side-effects of the Amulet. It had amused him sincerely to bother Granger with those emotions, but now, he is cast out of her, because of them, because of love.

He is thoroughly revolted by this, but he knows it is why he is feeling this aggravating, throbbing pain again. He recognises it, because he felt it before; at the ministry on the night he tried to possess the Potter boy and was unable to stay inside. This … this feels similar. And he realises that the moment, he forced his emotions, his magic and his mind on her, was the very moment that the part of the Amulet's powers he shoved on her, the part he didn't want to be bothered with, struck him with a vengeance. The Amulet reinforced Granger's light side and by doing so, he had been unable to reach the darkness inside of her, but was confronted with her goodness. Lord Voldemort is certain Hermione would not have been able to do this on her own. He had seen her mind and he knows how thoroughly dark a part of her truly is. She carries it along with her and all that he needed to do was incite that part and she would not have been able to return, but that blasted Amulet prevented him from reaching her. It's when he remembers the obnoxious Elf's remarks.

' _I see you fumbled around with the Amulet's powers,' Silimaurë says haughty._

' _Is that going to be a problem?' Voldemort asks._

' _Not to me,' Maglor states lightly._

'Not to me,' Voldemort repeats, mimicking Maglor's tone sarcastically.

Stupid elves and their weird sense of humour. He already deemed the Elf way too cosy with Granger, but he didn't want to start an all out war with Everon over something so whimsical in nature. He feels his temper rise, when he realises he should have killed the creature where it stood. And he wants to take the stone and crush it into a million pieces for thwarting him. Only, he needs the other powers the Amulet possesses. He needs the stone to heal his soul. He needs to become immortal again. He will crush it and Everon into the ground after this Amulet has served its purpose. No one hinders Lord Voldemort and gets away with it, not even the Elves of Everon.

He rubs his forehead in a futile attempt to relieve the throbbing pain he is feeling and he wonders whether Granger is alright. She isn't regaining consciousness, despite his healing of the wound on her head. 'Hermione?' he says softly, but there is no reply.

He watches the girl quietly. She completely lost it. Perhaps he should leave her alone. He won't be able to relieve the desperation she felt for as long as she is carrying that Amulet. A sharp pain stabs his heart as he remembers her cries and their conversation.

' _Please, just kill me, please,' Hermione cried pleading._

And he had hushed her and told her everything was going to be fine.

' _No, please. Please, I can't live like this.'_

Lord Voldemort knew the remedy to that and he had been waiting for her to ask. So he had consoled her. And he remembers the hopeful expression on her face, when he had informed her, she didn't have to live like this.

' _You will kill me?' She asked, seeking reassurance that the pain would go away._

She had finally broken down, but he would not kill her, he would help her. She would be his for an eternity. Together they would be unstoppable. Darkness would overtake her and make her the most powerful witch that ever walked on this earth. And she would be all his. All she needed to do was surrender the very essence of her being to him. So he promised her, it would all be over. He promised to take her pain away. He promised.

Within a split-second the tip of his wand comes to rest on Hermione's cheek. It's such an easy spell. He cast it a thousand times. Only two words, a jet of green light and it is all over. The sheer elegance of the curse never ceases to amaze him. It is so beautiful. He closes his eyes to cherish the memory. The feel of power as the bolt of green lightning leaves his wand and impacts with a definite finality on its victim. The wondrous manner, in which it takes the light out of the eyes of the person it is cast upon, is a true testament to the work of art its performance stands for. Two words and her life will be over; nice, clean and simple. It's what she wants and he did promise to take her pain away.

'A…' he pauses. No, Lord Voldemort always keeps his word.

'Ava…' he starts, but he muses on her serene expression. She is smiling. Perhaps it was just a temporary break down? But he knows it is a cop out. She is out cold. Her current expression bares no clue to her true emotions.

'Avada Kedrra…' No, that is not it.

'Avada Kad… Avada Kidav… Acda…' He growls frustrated. He knows how to say it.

'Avada Kedavra!' he yells, swirling his wand around at the window.

A dash of green blows the glass away before impacting on the hooting owl that has the misfortune of flying by rather noisily. Satisfied, Lord Voldemort watches the owl freeze momentarily in midair before plummeting out of sight like dead weight in the sky. See, it is like he said: nice, clean and simple. Two measly words and her suffering will be over. Confident that he can do this, he swirls his arm back at the girl. The tip of his wand brushes through her hair and a curl locks itself around it. He stares at it mesmerised. Her hair is such an outward expression of her character, it is uncanny. Wild, jubilant, stubborn, feisty and beautiful. He lifts his wand and the curl bounces back on Hermione's face; resilience springs to mind. She is definitely resilient. What is he doing? Why is he even considering this? Has he lost it completely? She is of no use to him dead!

Lord Voldemort shakes his head in disbelief. So what if she is desperate; she deserves it after speaking to him like that. And his mouth tightens upon remembering what happened earlier on. He was basking in his victory after the incident in the Great Hall with Bellatrix Lestrange. Lord Voldemort orchestrated every last detail of it and it went exactly as he planned, naturally. Sure, losing such a devoted follower was a shame, but the message he had to send to everybody else was more important. Granger doesn't know it, but there had been several incidents in the UK ever since her capture became public knowledge. Some morons, he did not know and was certain Hermione had never seen before, had made several ill-conceived escape plans in order to bust her out of his captivity. They had been captured by the Aurors, of course, but still… he needed this idiocy stopped, before it spread to a person who could actually think straight. So he decided to hit two birds with one stone and came up with a plan that would deal with this and his Bellatrix problem.

After the events of tonight, enough doubt regarding Granger's loyalties will be spread into the minds of those out there. And no one will be risking their lives over someone, who may turn them in on the spot, if they make it. Everyone in the Great Hall saw them kiss. After which he tortured and killed his most loyal follower for her, and they left together in a manner that made it seem Hermione had changed sides. No one knew he had to threaten her with the deaths of defenceless, little children in order to get her to come willingly and comply with his wishes. He set Hermione up perfectly and no one will dream of coming to her rescue now.

It's one of the reasons he picked Bella for his little show and tell. Lord Voldemort knows the impact on others would be the greatest, if he targeted someone whose loyalty to him was unwavering; unquestionable. Not only will it achieve in convincing those who may oppose him, it also sends a message to his other Death Eaters. One, that he is certain of, they will take to heart. Not a single one of them will dare to question his plans for Granger now. Not after seeing what he did to Bella. And he needed to get rid of Lestrange anyway. Bella would have become a burden to him the moment she would realise his plans for Granger went further than just torturing and killing the girl.

He remembers Granger's response to the letter. Her childish trustworthiness in others was almost endearing where it not for her harsh remark after that. You can never, ever show another your weaknesses. This, he knows. It is why he killed Bella. And yet, somehow, he let something slip to Granger in that cave. Why did he tell her about his childhood? Why had he let his guard down? The only one you can trust is yourself. And tonight's events have proven that once more. It was like someone threw a bucket of ice down his spine when she spoke those venomous words.

' _Oh, let me guess, another sob story of your dreadful childhood,' she sneered in fury. 'Well, you know what, Riddle, there are more people out there, who didn't have it easy when they were children. But I don't see them all turning into megalomaniacal, world conquering, power-hungry, uncaring bastards.'_

It was all so familiar that he didn't know how to respond. A memory he repressed a long time ago came thundering back to the surface, and instead of cursing the living daylights out of Granger, he had acted like a fool and ran out of the room similar as he had done as a little boy. Sister Betty, he remembers her name like it was only yesterday. She seemed really nice and he had trusted her enough to confide in her. It was something that even back then didn't come natural to him.

' _Tom, there are more people out there, who don't have it easy. You should be thankful Mrs Cole and the others have provided you with a roof over your head and food on the table. It's not nice to make suggestions about inappropriate behaviour that can place them in a bad light.'_

' _But … but I am not saying … It's not them …'_

' _Don't you realise how something like this can cause the orphanage to lose all its funds? An act of the devil I say. All the children will be out on the street, because of you. You don't want to turn into Satan's little helper, now do you?'_

' _But Sister Betty Dennis…'_

' _You're an ungrateful, bad boy and I want to hear nothing more of this ever again. Is that clear, Tom? Now leave or I'll inform Mrs Cole of your irresponsible accusations!'_

A blast echoes through the room and in a daze Voldemort looks at the furniture he just blasted into pieces subconsciously. Oh, how he got even with Sister Betty. He made sure she screamed for days before killing her. He smiles as he recalls telling her to stop whining, that there were more people out there who didn't have it easy. Knowing the woman was as religious as hell itself, he had shown her what he could do to dead bodies. And till this day on he savours the horror in her eyes, when he informed her, he would do the same to her after she perished. She had been begging for salvation and he had told the good Sister that as the devil he was not inclined to accommodate her. Nothing ever pleased him more than to see that foul bitch die without any hope of ever going to that ridiculous place muggles believe to be heaven. Well, maybe Potter's death would have been more pleasurable had he done it himself, but alas, no such luck was granted to him.

He glares at the woman on the floor; Potter's little helper. Why did he tell his enemy a weak spot? She'll pay for making him remember how helpless and alone he felt that day. He will make her pay. Calling him a coward. Yes, he heard her. She is so going to regret using his moment of negligence against him. Lord Voldemort can't believe he was considering helping her out of her misery. Hermione Jean Granger deserves every moment of despair she feels and he will cherish every bleeding second of it. The hatred he feels towards the bushy brown haired witch on the floor grows tremendously, when, suddenly, he clutches to his chest. A sharp pain stabs him straight in the heart and stars twinkle in front of his eyes, just before everything turns dark all around him and he crashes out cold on top of said girl.

* * *

An annoying prickling sensation in his snakelike face is what wakes Lord Voldemort. Disoriented, he blinks at the sunlight that shines and stings on his face, because the curtains in his bedroom are standing slightly ajar. His bedroom! He flies upward, seating himself in order to look around rather shocked. The bedcovers fall down to his legs and he realises he is lying in his bed. This is so not the place he remembers being in last. Someone must have brought him here and whoever it was even went through the trouble of getting his pyjama on and tucking him in? Who, what, how, why, when, where? The last thing he can recollect was the very humiliating experience of fainting in the living room. Lord Voldemort does not faint, anywhere. It's so… so… disgustingly human.

And where is Granger? His wand! He flicks his hand to make it appear, but nothing happens. Shit. The little witch couldn't possibly have nicked it while he was out cold, could she? He growls in frustration, because he knows she probably would have. He swirls his legs out of the bed and his eyes fall upon the nightstand. A breath of relieve escapes him, when he sees the familiar sight of his wand lying there and he quickly picks it up. He strokes the wood as he senses the brief charge of magic flow through him upon the moment of contact. Lucius must have been the one to find them. But where has he left Granger? He gets to his feet and swirls his wand around to change into a set of his favourite black, silk robes. Lord Voldemort storms out of the bedroom in order to find Lucius Malfoy. That pureblood better not have harmed the girl in any manner, otherwise he will have to _'explain'_ himself more thoroughly than yesterday evening.

'Malfoy!' Voldemort shouts impatiently.

He has summoned the Death Eater after he checked the bathroom, the living room and the guest bedrooms. Currently, he is standing in the dining room, but there is no sign of anyone there. Hurried footsteps are approaching the door, but he has already smashed it open before Lucius has a chance to enter.

'Where is she?' he snarls.

Lucius eyes widen in fright and he stares at his Master in confusion. 'Who?' Lucius whispers, obviously fearing the answer.

'Granger, you idiot. Where have you taken her?'

'Master?'

'We were both unconscious. You brought me to my bedroom. Now I'd like to know…' he halts upon seeing the utter astonishment in Malfoy's face. The idiot has no idea what he is talking about.

'My Lord, I have not …'

Voldemort waves his hand around to halt Malfoy in his speech. 'If it wasn't you, Lucius, then who has been inside my quarters last night?'

Lucius is shaking his head. 'My Lord, no one has requested an audience with you last night. Henceforth, I have not acknowledged anyone the right to pass the painting.'

'You are certain of that?' Voldemort asks, and his penetrating gaze falls upon a pair of fearful grey eyes.

'Yes, my Lord. I know how much you hate being disturbed in the evening.'

It is silent for a while. Malfoy is clearly uncomfortable with being forced to look into that all-knowing, all-seeing gaze, but eventually Voldemort is satisfied he is telling the truth and he lets Lucius of the hook. He registers the suppressed, relieved sigh coming from Lucius as he starts to pace the room. If Lucius did not put him to bed and he let no one enter, then, there is only one other option. He scowls at the ridiculous thought. She wouldn't have. His wand was there. She could have killed him. She tried before.

'Master?' Lucius asks.

'Not now, Lucius, I have to focus,' he replies.

Lord Voldemort concentrates and releases the tendrils of his magic in order to locate Hermione Granger. She will not escape him. Within seconds he finds her location and his jaw drops in astonishment. Apparently, this is a day for surprises.

'You're excused, Lucius,' he says offhandedly as he swirls out of the dining room in a whirl of black robes.

Absolutely stupefied Lord Voldemort stands in the doorway of his study. He is pretty certain he looks utterly ridiculous at the moment, but he just doesn't care. This is unbelievable. It just is. He presses his eyelids together and pinches himself. He must be dreaming. This has to be a dream. Or else he has lost all his marbles altogether overnight. For Hermione Jean Granger is sitting comfortably on the couch, her legs crossed in front of her and a book in her lap. A Dark Arts book to be more precise and from the looks of it she is almost halfway through it. He blinks again and rubs his slit-pupil eyes. Did he forget something that transpired last night? Because if his memory serves him correctly, he was thrown from her, his darkness was cast out. This makes no sense at all. Why is she reading those books? Yes, books plural, because he has suddenly noticed the pile on the floor. How long has she been up and about already? And why on earth had she not taken advantage of the opportunity she had to … well … get rid of him?

There is definitely something fishy about this. He narrows his eyes at the Gryffindor who still has not noticed his entrance, so entranced is she by the book she is reading at the moment. Although that does not surprise him considering which volume she has in her lap. He smirks in recognising it. Contrary to popular believe, not all Dark Arts Volumes are dangerous to read. Most of them are actually like normal books, just plain explanations of the theories and subjects in question. Only a relatively scarce amount has a direct and significant effect on the reader. The one Granger is currently engaged in definitely being one of the more luring and ensnaring tomes. Stealthy, he approaches Hermione and takes in the books beside her on the ground. The book on the bottom of the pile is the one he had been trying to get her to read for ages now. He summons it in his hands to check and is most pleasantly surprised when the book shows him she has read it from cover to cover. But why? Why would she, suddenly, completely out of the blue, read it? He is certain she is aware of the threat this book beholds to her.

His suspicion and curiosity is going through the roof as he takes in the stunning visual of Hermione reading Ensnaring The Arts. She has been fighting him tooth and nail on this subject. She has resisted every form of torture he threw at her and she denied herself from reading a single word, while he dangled the salvation to her agony in front of her. So why is she…? The answer hits him like a ton of bricks. In a fluent motion he takes Hermione's chin and lifts it. She jerks in shock, having not noticed his presence before he touches her, due to the book's dark enchantments.

'Look at me,' he whispers, before he adds: 'Leglimency.'

He barely needs to hold her chin, for she does not resist. She is not attempting to block him, to close her mind underneath one of the layers. She is not trying to avert her eyes from his gaze. On the contrary she is allowing him access. He can tell the difference from all the other times before, when he had to breakthrough her mental barriers. And he sees it all and it is rather shocking to him.

…Hermione wakes and crawls out from underneath his lifeless body…

…She is checking his vitals after turning him around carefully and nicking his wand…

…She is pacing the living room up and down, while occasionally glancing at his unconscious form…

…She is standing beside him, nervously tapping with his wand on her leg, obviously contemplating on some of her options…

…She is biting her lip, while looking at the Amulet of Aine, before she flicks his wand around in order to cast a Hover Charm on him and he sees her levitate him to his bed, changing his clothes into nightwear and tucking him in…

…She is in his study, pulling The Dark Arts Persona of the shelf and stationing herself on the couch, before opening it with a slight, nervous glance at the Amulet. 'This better work,' he hears her mutter…

And Lord Voldemort leaves her mind at once upon confirming his suspicions. Hermione is gambling the Amulet will protect her from the threat some of his books pose to her. His eyes glance to the volumes on the floor she has read and he gazes down at the girl's appearance meticulously. She is out of breath and perspiring, but those are after-effects from the Leglimency. It is not what he is looking for. It is not there. He can not sense any growing darkness, anywhere. Slowly, he sits down before her; narrowing his eyes at the clever, little witch.

'Planning to speed-read yourself through my entire library, before I return that Amulet to its makers, Hermione?' Voldemort says amused.

She shrugs calm with a small smile on her face and he thinks he sees a slightly Elfish twinkle inside of her eyes, but it must be a trick of the light. For it is gone the next moment. Her pupils dart to his hand that is caressing her hair, before they meet his gaze again. He marvels at her ability to remain calm and collective underneath such scrutiny. Ensnaring the Arts is lying open in her lap and he takes the book from her to glance at how far she has read it already.

'Interesting choice,' he comments, 'any thoughts on the contents you'd like to share.'

'Beside what a foul piece of work it is?' Hermione replies casually.

Throwing his head backwards, he laughs out loud. She really is something. He doubts anyone in history has ever been able to read that book and still make a derogatory comment about it. The enchantments on it are some of the most powerful around. Anyone who reads it for purposes of learning to defeat instead of using The Arts has been in for a ride, and here she sits, making a casual remark that clearly defies all The Arts stand for and nothing happens. That Amulet is an even bigger pain in the arse than he already envisioned and he smiles at Hermione.

'Yes, beside that,' Voldemort adds.

'I haven't finished it yet.'

'So I noticed.'

She folds her arms behind her head and sighs. 'The title is kind of a farce,' she replies. 'Whoever wrote this book clearly meant to lure unsuspecting readers into a life they would not have chosen on their own accord.'

'You believe that someone who decides to read a book called Ensnaring the Arts is unsuspecting?'

'They could be just curious.'

'Curiosity killed the cat.'

'Yes, and in this case you can take that quite literally,' she says, while eyeing the book with a disgusted expression. 'Ensnaring the Arts, pfftt… Ensnaring the reader into the Arts is a more appropriate title and if said reader remains unwilling, simply kill said reader by activating the nasty Cellular Degradation Charm that is on the pages.'

'Oh, it already tried to kill you?' Voldemort asks cheerful.

'Thrice,' Hermione mutters annoyed, 'what it lacks in intelligence it sure makes up in persistence.'

'Did you use Willinsky's or Tyler's counter chant?'

'Willinsky's,' Hermione answers, 'Tyler's is…'

'…too wordy,' they say in unison.

Hermione smirks and Voldemort snorts. 'Yes, like someone has the time to say four sentences before the kill,' he adds sarcastic.

An awkward silence falls like a blanket of snow over the inhabitants of the study. Hermione is looking upward. Automatically, he also glances up, trying to see what Hermione finds so interesting at the ceiling. Oh … nothing. Their eyes meet again.

'It is going to make some more attempts on your life, if you continue reading it,' he says softly. 'Especially the attack on the final page is rather vicious. Though I have to agree with you, it does get rather tiresome having to counter the same charm over and over again. I considered finding the author and killing him for boring me to tears with that chant, but, apparently, Gellert Grindelwald had already beaten me to that task.'

'Why would this book want to kill you?' Hermione asks bemused. 'Those enchantments are only set to kill someone who is not willing to delve into the Arts of this book.'

'Do you honestly think I'll allow a book to possess me, Hermione?' Voldemort says smirking. 'I read them to obtain the knowledge inside. I have no desire to become a circus animal that jumps through a hoop. I always take the necessary precautions upon reading a new Dark Arts Volume.'

'Oh,' she merely says.

'But I love to see how your precaution turns out,' he says lightly. 'Feel free to browse through it all,' he adds waving at the volumes on the shelves nonchalant. 'I can't wait to find out if that piece of Elfin junk can stand up to the more powerful tomes.'

'Your concern for my safety is quite touching,' Hermione replies ironically.

'I didn't push those other books in your hands, dear. You picked them out all by yourself,' he reminds her smiling.

'Touché,' she says acknowledging.

'I would have…' and he smirks viciously, because a wonderful idea springs to mind. 'I'll be right back.'

'Don't hurry!' He hears her say in jest right before the door slams shut behind him.

A couple of minutes later he re-enters his study chamber carrying an enormous thick and ancient tome. With a loud thud it lands on the coffee table and he smirks as he sees Granger's eyes widen upon recognising what the general public calls the book of the devil. The book itself bares no title whatsoever. Only a circle of undecipherable runes are visible on the weathered brown leather cover.

'Why don't you try out the powers of the Elves against this one,' he suggests deviously and he roars with laughter upon seeing her glare at him through narrowed eyelids.

'No?' he asks and seats himself next to her again. 'Not even the slightest bit curious about the contents?'

'I think I can live without it,' she replies.

'It may not even open up to you,' he says, deliberately targeting her angst of failure, of not measuring up. 'It is said to only reveal its contents to those it deems worthy. History has shown that has not happened often.'

Unfortunately, she is ignoring his taunts. 'Did you read it?' she asks interested.

'Naturally,' he replies smug.

'At what age?' she continues, seating herself more upright.

'Trying to determine if it is the devil's book that is the cause for all my evil deeds?' he asks snorting.

She shrugs and is observing him rather intently. Gosh, she is actually considering this. 'I was your age at the time; twenty-eight,' he replies, squashing that notion to bits and pieces.

'That was right before you returned to Hogwarts to hide the Ravenclaw Horcrux in the Room of Requirement, was it not?' Hermione asks frowning.

Now, it is his time to frown. She really knows way too many details about his personal life. He keeps forgetting the old coot had been digging in his past and told Potter all about the things he found out about him.

'Yes, right before I returned her,' he replies stiff.

He will not make the same mistake twice and trust her again with something personal. Why is she staring at him like that? He returns the favour, because he wants her to stop badgering him in that manner. It's when she opens her mouth that he receives another surprise today.

'I am sorry,' she apologises sincerely.

He gazes at her in shock. He is used to people saying they are sorry to him, but not used to them actually meaning those apologies. It is always uttered out of fear for his wrath. So many times his followers have apologised to him for their incompetence, their failure, their lack of proper servitude. Every time someone told him they were sorry it was in a feeble hope to save their skins. So why is Granger saying it at the moment? He can't begin to comprehend that. She knows she is placing herself at risk for even bringing up last night's events again. She is not doing it to stay out of harms way. On the contrary, she is placing herself directly in its path.

'I was out of line with what I said to you last night,' Hermione continues softly. 'I had no right to diminish your childhood experiences in the orphanage, because I can't even begin to imagine what you went through.'

Several painful images flash before his eyes and he tries to bury them as fast as he can, but somehow he is unsuccessful to close the lit on them.

…

' _You might want to reconsider adoption, Mrs White, the boy is … peculiar. Why not go with Alan?'_

…

' _I would appreciate it if you were to examine him, doctor. I believe there is something seriously wrong with him.'_

' _What could be wrong with a four year old, Mrs Cole?'_

' _Well, Tom seems to lack emotions others have. He never shows any. He never cried as a baby and I believe he enjoys hurting others a lot.'_

…

' _You killed that rabbit Tom. I don't know how you did it, but I know it was you. You're a rotten, evil, little boy.'_

…

' _He will amount to nothing.'_

…

' _Mrs Cole should call an Asylum and have them take him away.'_

…

' _He is got accepted into some boarding school I never heard of,' Mrs Cole said._

' _Shouldn't you investigate whether it is a legit institution?' Sister Betty asked her._

' _No, it's good riddance, I say.'_

' _Mary,' Sister Betty said in mock admonition. And both women laugh quietly._

…

Alright, Granger needs to shut up now. How dare she bring on these memories? He clenches his hands to fists and feels like seriously hurting someone. And the cause of his current agony comes to mind. How dare she impose him with her … her … self-serving comments. Yes, that is what it has to be. It's not a sincere apology. He had to have been mistaken in his observation. She doesn't mean a single word she says. No one ever does. She has to have an ulterior motive. They always do. She is trying to weaken him. That's what she is doing, but he will not be fooled by her phoney caring expression again.

He startles when he feels soft hands taking a hold of his. In a blink of an eye he pulls away from her and jumps of the couch, his wand at the ready. He sees her withdraw her hands in something he can't quite identify, but there is definitely fear in her eyes now. Yes, that's it Hermione. Be afraid, be very afraid. He is not someone to toy with. He clenches on to his wand in fury. She has got too comfortable around him, too at ease. Is that concern in her eyes? That little, traitorous wench.

'Don't you use your feminine wiles on me!' he yells.

Granger gasps, her jaw drops, and she stares at him confounded and astonished. Somewhere in the back of his mind he realises how utterly ridiculous his outburst is with respects to the woman in question, but then … she snorts; rather loudly. And she starts to giggle uncontrollably. She is laughing in his face! His temper grows exponential and he does what he feels he should have done yesterday evening, instead of running for cover.

'Crucio!'

There, now she is no longer laughing. Lord Voldemort watches with great satisfaction as Hermione plummets of the couch onto the floor, writhing and screaming in extreme agony. Every ounce of skill that he has gets mixed with her own and he inhales the sheer delight he is feeling, while she is on the ground crawling before him, where she belongs. The sheer force of the curse as it is cast with their combined magic exhilarates him and he takes great pleasure in seeing the overwhelming effects it has on her. All his fury overtakes his rational mind. And he thinks with his teeth firmly clenched upon one another:

That _(a flick of his wand)_

Girl _(a twirl)_

Will _(a second flick)_

Never _(an underhand flip)_

Trick _(a casual flash)_

Him _(a sideway whip)_

Again _(a jabbing motion)_.

An earth shattering scream, blood sprays everywhere, and then … silence; total and heartbreaking silence.


	18. Chapter 18

**Spoilers:** All Harry Potter books, including Deathly Hallows.

 **Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The song text belongs to the Eurythmics and I receive no currency for posting it, but I do love that song.

 **Author's note:** Hermione's POV.

* * *

**The Bittersweet Taste of Victory**

_How many sorrows  
do you try to hide?  
In a world of illusions  
that's covering your mind?  
I'll show you something good.  
Oh I'll show you something good.  
When you open your mind  
you'll discover the sign  
that there's something  
you're longing to find..._

The miracle of love  
will take away your pain,  
when the miracle of love  
comes your way again.

Cruel is the night  
that covers up your fears.  
Tender is the one  
who wipes away your tears.  
There must be a bitter breeze  
to make you sting so viciously.  
They say the greatest cowards  
can hurt the most ferociously.  
But I'll show you something good.  
Oh I'll show you something good.  
If you open your heart,  
you can make a new start,

_when your crumbling world falls apart._

Eurythmics; The miracle of love.

**Chapter eighteen**

The Cruciatus Curse is the first one to hit me dead on, but it has never felt this extreme before. I crash to the floor screaming in agony. Only to notice more force is being laid into it. Oh God, someone come in and finish me off. He has completely lost all self-control. The pain is becoming unbearable and I almost pass out cold into blissful oblivion, when the next dark curse strikes and another and another in a consecutive manner.

I feel every bone inside my body shatter one by one, only to heal and start breaking all over again. Then, a blazing fire whirls into me and I close my eyes, before screaming my lungs out from feeling the flames lick my skin and etch into my body. A flick of his wand and it turns cold, delightfully cold… deliciously cold… painfully cold! For the second time I feel like my skin is being ripped off from my flesh, but nothing is visibly damaged. And I scream. I scream and scream and scream some more. Another one strikes and I don't even know where I am anymore. My insides are twisting and turning and it feels like my organs are being shredded inside of me. I taste blood in my mouth and clench my arms around my waist, but there is no relieve from this. Someone better just kill me here and now.

I see the flashing motion like it is cast in slow-motion. A streak of purple flames heads toward me. No, not again. I've spent too long inside the infirmary after Dolohov cast that curse on me. It is going to be unendurable this time around. It still annoys me to a degree, no one will ever be able to understand, that I forgot about nonverbal spell casting when I used the Silencing Charm on him. I should have just stunned the Death Eater. Hell, I should have killed him. I feel how that same curse enters me again and I lose all mobility. I know it follows every neural pathway in your body and I scream in my head when the pain travels on. No one can understand how horrible it is to be this helpless; to see, hear and feel everything without being able to respond. I remember how Harry and Neville were shaking me frightened out of their wits, while I was unable to tell them they should not touch me, because it was hurting like crazy. Oh Merlin, I am right. This time it is so much worse. My head feels like it is about to explode.

I notice the sideway whip and realise what is going to happen next. I read about that curse a moment ago. I just need to remember… remember… remem… Everything turns dark and there is not a single thing I can register; total sensory deprivation. It is frightening beyond believe. I need to feel, hear, see, taste, and smell something; anything. I'm losing it. I'm losing myself. I don't know who I am anymore. I'm slipping…

Reality comes crushing in and I feel my painful body again. My eyes open and my pupils dilate in terror, when I see Voldemort's wand move in a jabbing motion. 'No…' I mutter in shock.

I throw my arms over my head and brace myself for the inevitable impact. An earth shattering scream, that is not mine, reaches my eardrums right before the curse impacts on my chest and my blood sprays through the room. But then, there follows no new one. It all stops. Everything turns silent; too silent. And I dare not move an inch, despite the blood I feel pulsating out of my chest rapidly.

_Thud._

Thud?

The heavy dull noise is followed by the clattering sounds of something small and wooden hitting the floor as well, before I hear it roll towards me. My head shoots up and my hand lashes out in reflex to smash on the wand, pinning it down beneath my palm, before it passes me by completely. I don't think I am in a condition to go after it at the moment. Still suffering from the after-effects of the countless dark curses, that have been cast upon me, I can barely get my fingers to go around it, but I manage and with a relieved sigh I roll on my back. I breathe in carefully a couple of times, before starting to heal the bleeding wound on my chest. It is a tremendously large gash and it doesn't heal properly, but I get it to stop haemorrhaging and it is no longer an open wound, so I count my lucky stars and try to sit upwards.

The world starts swirling and, quickly, I lie down again. Shit, too much blood loss. I should have realised this in advance, considering the pool I am currently lying in. I aim the wand at nowhere in particular. We're at Hogwarts. The infirmary is somewhere beneath me and I know the school nurse always keeps a steady supply of what I need.

'Accio Blood-Replenishing Potion,' I cast and wait.

And as I wait, I glance at the immobile body that lies a few feet away from me. Nice and quiet, like we all prefer him to be. I don't know what happened. I have no idea why he, suddenly, screamed his lungs out or why he plummeted to the ground out cold. And frankly, I don't care. All I care about is that he is motionless and I have his wand and he is not getting it back this time around. I stick out my tongue. He can come crawling on his hands and knees for it, and he still isn't getting it back. I am not a fool. HA!

What is keeping that blasted potion? And it is as if my thought makes it appear. The door opens; a bottle flies through it and lands in my hand. I uncork the stone bottle and down the entire liquid at once, while I am still lying down. Eww... I wrinkle my face in disgust. Poor Arthur Weasley, this potion tastes absolutely revolting and he had to drink it every hour after that snake bit him. I give the potion some time to get through my system, before sitting up and scrambling to my feet. That is so much better. I move my sore limbs around carefully and stretch out. I can't believe I am standing upright. I spent a long time in the infirmary after Dolohov struck me down with the same curse Voldemort just used on me, and Voldemort made it feel ten times worse. How did he render the effects of every curse nonexistent upon casting the new one on me? I've got to research that; later.

Right now, I have more pressing matters, like an unconscious Dark Lord. I walk over and stare down at his snakelike face. His complexion looks even whiter now. I never thought that could be possible. If it gets any whiter he'll become translucent; ghostlike. I snort. He'll probably welcome anything that makes him look more frightening and I roll my eyes to the ceiling. Well, he doesn't look this intimidating, when he is lying flat on his back on the ground. I clutch onto the wand in my hand. Actually, he does. Damn, he better not find out about that. His ego is already like way up there. Mountaineers will never be able to reach the peak of it.

I roll the wand in my hand, while contemplating on what to do next. I already cast away the thought of regaining control over his body after experiencing his emotions, his darkness inside of me. There is no point in trying to take over his body and by doing so gaining control over his magic, if it is going to consume me. And yesterday evening I also told myself that my dark side wasn't going to prevail by me killing Lord Voldemort. He will win by default, if I do. Only now, I am not so sure anymore. I don't know how much longer I am going to be able to stand his ridiculous, immature hyper-sensitiveness. I apologised for crying out loud and he goes all berserk on me. His emotional instability is such a huge obstacle into… Oh gosh, this stupid Amulet is turning me into a delusional witch. He'll never change. I have to kill him. This has to end. I can't possibly be on the receiving end of his wand ever again. I'll break, if it happens. So I'll just have to do this, I do.

I don't know why I feel so confused about this or why I am stalling for time. It's not a difficult choice to make. It is not. And I have to act now, before he wakes. He is breathing, isn't he? I don't see any movement. That will solve everything. I bite my lip and I look at his chest. I really don't see any movement at all. You've got to be kidding me. Shocked, I kneel down and check his vitals signs for the second time in the last twenty-four hours. My hand is on his chest and I don't feel any signs of breathing. Oh I so am not doing mouth-to-mouth here. However, when I search for a pulse, I find one. It's faint and weak, but it is there. A relieved sigh escapes my lips. Appalled, I realise what I am feeling. No, I am not relieved that he is not dead. This stupid Amulet is overdoing things. Too bad, too bad, that is the right feeling. Yes, much better. But what am I going to do now? Well, I suppose I can always dump him out the window. That ought to take care of removing that pulse permanently. I chuckle.

'My Lord, I…'

My head snaps up and I see Lucius Malfoy standing in the doorway staring at the scene before him in disbelieve. I suppose he never expected this turn of events, because he is not moving. From the corner of my eye I look down at the defenceless man on the ground next to me. If Malfoy curses me that curse will follow the magical pathway to him and Voldemort doesn't look like he can take another blow to his physique at the moment. It will finish him off; for good. But Malfoy is standing there, frozen to the ground, useless as always. His mouth is ajar and his pointed face now carries the most dumbfounded, astonished expression I ever witnessed on anyone.

Suddenly, his sense seems to return to him and his hand flies to the heft of his cane to retract his wand in a tremendous haste. Only … I am already holding mine and my fingers clench around it upon realising what is going to happen. I am about to commit murder-by-proxy! Is this really the approach I want to take? Doubt begins to fill my mind as I tilt my head and smile ever so charming and triumphant at Lucius to challenge him to give it his best shot. He raises his wand at me, and in a split-second of insanity, I change my mind. I blast his hateful pureblood arse to Kingdom Come with extreme satisfaction. Oh the joy of cursing a Malfoy. I'll probably never get tired of it.

Once more the walls of Voldemort's chambers are decorated with the fine outline of the pureblood wizard. It reminds me of the cartoons I watched on television as a child. There was one with a wolf that got hurt continuously. What was the name of that show again? I can't seem to remember it. Roadrunner! Yes, that is it. Hmmm… I'll only have to add some dynamite to make the resemblance between Lucius and the wolf complete. Nah, it probably is of no use anyway. Lucius is the wolf. He will always be back for the next episode. I snicker in amusement, when the root of all evil is stirring underneath my hand.

I jump up and point my wand at Voldemort. Ouch, my chest. I must make a mental note not to move to abruptly. He shifts somewhat again. Shit. Why was I wasting my time dwelling on my revenge at a Malfoy? Oh man, I should have just let him curse me. Shit. Bloody hell. This is not the time to develop a conscious and go all ethical, Hermione. You already tried that approach. It got you cursed into oblivion.

Lord Voldemort is muttering something inarticulately, but he doesn't seem to waken. Alright, fine… I will do it myself; Amulet or no Amulet. I am not going to be controlled by some stupid stone. I can do this. I'll have to do this. I'm the only one here who can do this.

'Ava…' I start to say, but he seems still again; motionless. However, it doesn't matter. It needs to be done.

'Avada Kedrra…' No, that is not it.

'Avada Kad… Avada Kidav… Acda…' I growl frustrated. I know how to say it.

'Avada Kedavra!' I yell, swirling the Elder Wand around at the window.

A dash of green blows the glass away and whirls out into the clouded sky. I marvel at the sheer power it makes the caster feel upon leaving the tip of the wand and I track the path of the curse with my eyes. It has a strange resemblance to a reverse lightning bolt of a thunderstorm in this manner. Only this one is green, but equally deadly. I stare at it in wonder as it disappears into the clouds; death absorbed into heaven. And I see the tip of the wand I am holding in the peripheral vision of my eyes. It's strange. I have cast this Unforgivable before, _twice_ , but due to the stressful circumstances on those occasions I never noticed the pleasurable feel it gives the caster. The rush of magic that sears through your body leaves a nice tingling sensation in its wake. One can get accustomed to that feeling. I close my eyes and savour the moment. Oh yes, this is definitely delightful.

I gasp as a sharp pain stabs my heart and I grab onto my chest, panting. A black mist swirls before my very eyes and I hear voices, anxious voices.

' _We're losing her,' says Dumbledore sorrowful._

' _No, we can't. She won't…'_

I smile on hearing that last voice. 'Harry?' I shout. 'Harry, is that you?'

' _Hermione!' Harry yells and he sounds frightened._

'Harry, where are you?' I can't see a thing in this blasted mist, but I have to get to Harry. If he is scared, it must be something really, really bad. 'Harry!'

' _No, Hermione, no!' Harry screams._

And I know those screams. I recognise those screams. He is in pain. I've yelled like that a thousand times while being on the receiving end of that hateful curse and I know Harry is being tortured.

'Harry, where are you?' I yell frantic, and I swivel my head left and right, while pointing my wand at the mist. 'Evanesco!'

I try the Vanishing Charm to no avail several times. Why isn't it working? I need to get to Harry. I need to help him. His screams are getting worse and worse by the minute, but I can't pinpoint his location. 'HARRY!' I yell desperate as I run through the dense clouds of blackness.

My movements are strangely unhindered, because the pain in my chest has miraculously disappeared. Suddenly, I bump into a hooded figure and I crash to the ground backwards. Leaning on my elbows I look up as the figure turns and pulls of her hood. She smiles as she looks at me. And I smile back, because I am looking at myself. I don't understand how it is possible, but I can sure use some help in finding Harry.

' _You are nearly there,' says the woman that is not me, but yet she is. 'This is all I have left to vanquish.'_

And she turns or is that me turning?

' _Crucio!'_

She casts, or is that me? Terrible screams fill the air once more and I peek around the long black robe my other self is wearing. Who is she Crucio-ing? And I see messy black hair, a pair of broken glasses and emerald green eyes whose pupils roll to the back of his head.

'Nooooo!' I yell and I raise my wand at myself.

She turns to me. _'Don't be a fool. It's all for the greater good. Harry understands. Don't you Harry?'_

I look at Harry frightened beyond my wit. He is going to hate me. He will hate me.

' _Answer me, Potter!' She yells furious. 'You couldn't do it, could you! You and your stupid heroics … walking into the Forbidden Forest without back up. You let us all down!'_

'No, he didn't let us down,' I cry out. 'You didn't Harry. I know why you went. You did the right thing.'

She swirls around and smirks at me condescendingly. _'But he did let you down, Hermione. You're in this mess with Lord Voldemort, because the Great Harry Potter failed,' she snarls._

I can't believe how much I remind myself of Professor Snape there and I make a second mental note, one a bit more firm than the previous one, stating that I need to always remember to apply the proper hygiene to my hair. Gosh, some version of me is torturing Harry and I am worried about hair care? I am going nuts. Well, I am seeing myself, so… But this isn't real. This can't be real. I will never torture Harry, will I?

' _Now, you are forced to finish what he started, unless you prefer to suffer at Voldemort's hands, because of Potter's failure to succeed,' she speaks venomously. 'You know what you have to do, dear. You know the spell. It's just two little words. Two delightful, little words and that muggle-hating bigot can rot for an eternity in hell. So why don't you do your job and get rid of Lord Faint-a-lot … I'll do mine, so Harry Potter's image will never haunt us again. And we can both rise to the challenge and become greater than anyone ever before. Crucio!'_

My hand is stretched out to Harry, but I can't reach him. I try to curse the maniacal me, but I am unsuccessful, because for some reason no spell exits the tip of my wand. 'Harry!' I yell. 'Stop, you need to stop. He is our friend.'

' _I have no use for witless friends who continue to disappoint me BY FAILING TO LISTEN TO MY ADVICE! I can take care of my own. Now, leave woman … you have a Dark Lord to kill. Crucio!'_

'No, don't… stop… Harry, oh my, I am sorry!'

The mist whirls around me and I see them no longer, but I still hear the screams and I cover my ears to block out the sound. 'No, no, no,' I mutter.

The wooden floorboards are hard as my knees painfully come into contact with them, but that is nothing compare to the pain from my chest wound or the pain that I am feeling in my heart right now. I lower my hands in my lap as the screams silence, but I still hear their echo whirling through my mind. I must be losing my mind. Yes, it's like Ron said, hearing voices is not a good sign, not even in the Wizarding World. And there is no way I will ever Crucio Harry, no way. But I can't seem to shake the visuals I just saw.

'I didn't… I didn't…' I repeatedly say as I stare into thin air and the image of Harry writhing and twisting on the floor due to my curse is etched on my retina. 'I couldn't… I couldn't…'

A hand falls on mine and I feel how the wand in there is taken away from me. I don't care anymore. I don't care what happens to me. Let him curse me, maybe then I'll stop seeing those dreadful images.

'That's not me. It isn't,' I say, trying hard to convince myself.

Two crimson eyes are gazing at me intently, when suddenly he wraps an arm around my shoulder and pulls me to his chest. And I grab a hold of him, because I need some comfort no matter from whom. It's not like I am a good person myself. I cursed Harry. Oh Merlin, I cursed Harry.

'Whatever it was you saw, it's not real, you know,' Voldemort says quietly, caressing my hair. 'It's that Amulet. You're right here. None of it happened.'

I want to believe that. I really do, but it felt so real. It was so real. It can become real. That I know for certain. It's why that Amulet must be showing me these hateful things. I have to remember. I have to resist the Arts, especially around him. I can not become him. I don't want to become him. We sit there, silently, as he holds my trembling body in his arms. I don't know how long, but behind the clouds I see the sun starting to set, so it must have been some time.

'I cursed Malfoy,' I finally whisper hoarse.

'I saw the hole in the wall,' Voldemort says shrugging.

'I think you may need a new window too,' I add timid upon remembering what curse I cast there and how much I enjoyed it.

'Shall I be in need of a new supply of owls as well?' he asks amused.

'What?' I look up bemused and see a pair of joyous red eyes with round pupils smile at me. Since when are his pupils round?

'Oh nothing,' he says smirking. 'Come, let's get you cleaned up.'

I flinch in pain as Lord Voldemort pulls me up and he halts his movement to gaze at me.

'Where are you injured?' he asks in his usual, answer me right this instance, tone of voice.

'Like you don't know that,' I reply resentful.

For a second he seems to debate something with himself. 'I remember which curse I cast, but I did not see it hit,' he responds softly. 'So where are you injured?'

What does he mean he did not see it hit? And I recall his scream and I still don't know why he blacked out there. Shall I enquire … Ah, he is never going to share that information with me. I can tell by the guarded expression that is currently on his face. So I stare at the ground as he guides me back to the couch. I'm not convinced it is a sane idea to tell the Dark Lord where I am hurting. My doubt must be written all over my face, because he starts to talk again.

'I won't hurt you, Hermione,' he whispers reassuringly. 'You obviously healed the bleeding already, but the damage underneath will be more severe.' And he lifts my chin to meet his eyes. 'You need my help to heal this. It will get a lot worse the longer you wait. Let me help you.'

And I don't know whether it is the oddity of him asking my permission or the sincerity that seems to shine through in his voice and his eyes or the simple fact that if I say no he'll probably do what he wants anyway, but I nod affirmatively.

'My chest,' I say quietly.

My stomach clenches in discomfort and, apprehensively, I avert my eyes, because for some inconceivable reason this feels more like I am surrendering myself to him than all those times when we had sex. He traces the lines of my face with a finger, before lying me down on the couch. And I watch him as he cleans my clothes with a simple _'Scourcify'_ , and moves on to unbutton my blouse. My palms are getting sweaty and I am trembling slightly. Why am I so anxious? It is not like there is something here he hasn't seen before. Well, there is this humongous gash, which I healed rather clumsily and I really don't want him to witness the botched up job I performed there. Oh my, how pathetic am I? Now, I am concerned about not getting his approval. Yuck, Granger.

Lord Voldemort stares down at my healed wound and he frowns. This is so embarrassing. I knew I made a mess of things. See, he is shaking his head.

'I can't believe you were able to mend that on your own,' he utters admiring.

What? Astonished, I just stare at his face, but he is not looking me in the eye. He is concentrating on the wound and starts to chant in a strange, foreign language, while whipping his wand around from left to right above my chest. Slowly, I begin to feel somewhat odd inside. It's almost like something is moving in there. What is he doing? Distrust is beginning to seep into my mind. I've been hurt and healed many times prior to this and it never felt anything like how it feels now. What if…?

I clutch onto whatever is in reach and gasp as the next sensation hits me. I can't describe it. It's not pleasant, but it is also not painful. And now I know for certain there is definitely something moving inside of me. It's just frightening me enormously and I panic. What was I thinking? I should have got rid of him the moment I had the chance. Why do I allow some piece of Elfin made junk to decide what is best in this no good situation I am in? The Elves themselves are bloody well safely hiding behind the wards of Everon! I don't see any of them lying on a couch with a wound so large you can split them in half without effort.

'Hermione.'

The crawling, wriggling, slithering sensation has stopped.

'Hermione, look at me,' says Voldemort demanding as he takes a hold of my head with one hand. 'I need you to calm down. It's alright.'

'What … are … you … doing … to … me?' I say gasping for air between words.

Two hands are now embracing me and he gazes down at me. 'I am healing you. I know it is a rather unconventional manner and somewhat creepy.'

'Somewhat?' I interrupt him indignant.

'However,' Voldemort continues without acknowledging my resentful comment, 'Le Fay's Healing Chants are the only remedy to this particular curse.'

'Morgan Le Fay's Healing Chants?! Do you take me for a simpleton?! Those chants are a myth. They were never found and…' I halt my rant, when I see the smug expression on Lord Voldemort's face and I growl frustrated. 'Been nicking artefacts again?' I snarl.

He smirks at me. 'You know … that is a lovely idea. I hadn't considered doing that, yet. However, once this Amulet has healed my soul, I do need a new object to cast a fragment into,' he says pining on the prospect. 'But before … Well, there was really no need to raid the tomb. From the amount of dust and debris it was clear that no one has ever entered it before me. I believe the scrolls are quite safe where Le Fay hid them.'

'Oh yes, quite safe,' I sneer sarcastically. 'Let's just keep all the useful knowledge hidden. God forbid someone will benefit from it.'

'Do you honestly expect me to share the knowledge on how to undo the damage to some of my more advantageous curses, Hermione?' Voldemort says, eyeing me with clear pity. 'Anyway, you are profiting from the knowledge now. So please remain still, while I finish this chant. It takes a lot of concentration to perform.'

'I be…'

His finger presses down on my lips, halting my speech. And he is now giving me a clearly irritated warning glance, before focusing his attention back on the wound. Somewhat more at ease with the weird symptoms, now that I know their origin, I am able to ignore them and I watch as Lord Voldemort chants again, completely engrossed in the task at hand. It's quite something to see him perform magic. It's truly watching an expert in action. It's all shown in the tiny details. In the way he moves and guides the power with such ease and elegance. In the way he always immerses himself straight into the magic; even with the simplest of spells. Not that he needs to with those, but it's the manner in which he must have grown accustomed to use his magic. It all appears to come natural, even casually to him. I don't think he is aware it is a rare capability. It is so second nature to him, I doubt he notices. I guess he developed it in the orphanage before knowing what he did was called magic.

Age seven, I still can't believe it. To consciously be able to perform and control your magic without even knowing you're a wizard to the degree he told me about … it's unbelievable. And considering how he uses magic even when he is holding a wand I don't think he ever lost the capability to do wandless magic. I suppose that by the time he came to Hogwarts it was already such a conditioned behaviour that no amount of teaching him the _'proper'_ method could oust it out of him. I smirk as I recall Professor Snape calling it 'silly wand-waving'. He never knew how right he was about that. I suppose the Knights of Silence must have been absolutely thrilled the first time Voldemort stepped through their doorway. It is very rare for them to meet an outsider who already practises magic in the intuitive manner they do. Well, thrilled… at least until they realised they were unable to get him to separate from his dark ways.

Hmmm… I'm pretty certain Voldemort was the one Yoda referred too, when he said there was only another who achieved results faster than me. Voldemort knows too much of the Knights for it to be second hand knowledge. I wonder if Jareth would have been his mentor. It was the monk I saw Voldemort talk to when he came to the monastery while I was there. And I suppose Jareth would make sense considering his dark background before he became a Knight. To be or not to be, that is the monk's motto. I should have called him Hamlet, but I already baptised him Jareth before knowing he practically carried that phrase on his lips as an answer to everything. It was most annoying at times. Perhaps he needed to remind himself what he was and can become again. Perhaps it is a phrase I need to keep in mind.

The squirming motion inside my chest becomes overwhelming and I tighten my hold on the leather fabric of the couch, but then the creepy feeling fades. Voldemort halts the swish swash motion of his wand and places his hand on my chest, while closing his eyes. Now, what?

'Oh, come on, get a grip, Hermione. He isn't going to kill you, while he has his emotions under control,' I think firmly.

'No, but he can sure hurt you,' another voice inside my head says.

'Morgan Le Fay was most famous for her unrivalled healing abilities. This is just a part of that.'

'And you know that, because…?'

I now practically rip the leather off in fear, because I feel heat radiating from Voldemort's hand into my chest. Did he just heal me, so he can curse me some more? I consider to get away from him now, and I am about to move, when his other hand falls on one of mine and he squeezes it gently. For some inconceivable reason it reassures me enough to remain still, and after a while, he opens his eyes and nods at me smiling.

'How do you feel now?' Voldemort asks.

Staring down at my chest, I am amazed with the result, because there isn't even the smallest bit of evidence of a wound remaining. The wiggling motion is gone and I feel quite fine. Morgan Le Fay sure was brilliant to invent something like this. I feel a hand on my cheek.

'Hermione?'

'I'm fine,' I reply distracted.

This chant mystifies me. How would it work? And what was that language? Perhaps the rumours about Le Fay's heritage are correct and she wasn't completely human after all. Still, it didn't sound like the language of the Elves, but then again, Morgan lived ages ago and languages alter in time. I surely won't mind browsing through her archives one day, but I halt my inward questions on the matter, when I notice Voldemort is smirking at me.

'Curious, dear?' he says taunting, while closing up my blouse with a simple gesture of his wand. 'You know if you were to join…'

I interrupt him with a tired sigh. When is that man going to stop being delusional and just give up? The man in question, suddenly, leans forward and the mischievous twinkle in his red eyes makes me quite uncomfortable. He kisses my neck, before whispering in my ear.

'If I really would have been delusional about you, Hermione, I would be dead now. So thanks for saving my life, darling,' he whispers, nibbling at my earlobe in between words; an action that sends several undesired shivers down my spine.

'What are you blabbering about?' I respond resentful and I turn my head to face him. 'The fact that I didn't struck you down with that Unforgivable only proves my point that you are wasting your time.'

'Ah,' he says joyous, 'but I wasn't talking about your inability to cast the Killing Curse on a living being, _yet_.'

I don't miss the huge emphasis he places on _yet'_ and the triumphant expression it is accompanied with, and I am beginning to get incredibly irritated by it.

'Then, by all means, do enlighten us, simple folks, with the brilliance of your deductions,' I sneer.

'Lucius Malfoy,' he merely replies and he strokes my face, caringly.

'What has Malfoy got to do with anything?' I say now thoroughly annoyed.

'You cursed him, didn't you? You stopped him from casting a spell at you and by doing so you stopped him from hitting me. And I'm pretty certain I would have died, if Lucius' curse had struck me while I was down already.

I gape at him and he laughs in triumph.

'You would have been of the hook had Lucius killed me in that manner, Hermione. It would have been his doing, not yours. Not a single threat did it pose to you. You cannot become ensnared by the Arts through another's actions. So I don't think I am delusional at all. No, I think you're tempted to take me up on my offer and you didn't want that option to, suddenly, become unavailable to you upon my death, so you protected me. Thanks dear, I really appreciate it,' he adds taunting.

Oh, that man is so bloody aggravating. I just want to wrap my hands around his bony neck and squeeze real, real hard.

'I didn't try to save you,' I say, determined to wipe that victorious grin into the next era. 'I merely was stupid enough to forget I couldn't be cursed by anyone else but you. I forgot about the little pathway you created, by draining on my magic, when Malfoy raised his wand at me.'

And I fold my arms over each other and stick my nose in the air snobbishly. There, take that, Mr Know-It-All.

With a swift move, he takes a hold of me and tugs me toward him. His lips crash down on mine and the most passionate kiss ever consumes me thoroughly. I don't even notice I've moved my arms around his waist, until he pulls away from the kiss and looks me straight in the eye.

'Liar,' he says ecstatic, before pulling me into another, all-consuming kiss.


	19. Chapter 19

**Spoilers:** SEVERE! Deathly Hallows spoilers in this chapter.

 **Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The same goes for the song text at the start of the chapter.

 **Author's note:** Voldemort's POV.

* * *

**The Bittersweet Taste of Victory**

_What a wicked game to play  
To make me feel this way  
What a wicked thing to do  
To let me dream of you  
What a wicked thing to say  
You never felt this way  
What a wicked thing to do  
To make me dream of you_

_And I wanna fall in love  
No, I don't want to fall in love  
With you_

_The world was on fire and  
No one could save me but you  
It's strange what desire makes foolish people do  
I never dreamt that I'd love somebody like you  
I never dreamt that I'd lose somebody like you_

_No, I don't wanna fall in love  
No, I don't wanna fall in love  
With you_

_No I...  
Nobody loves no one._

Chris Isaak, Wicked Game.

**Chapter nineteen**

With pure hatred etched on his heart and his teeth firmly clenched upon one and another, Lord Voldemort jabs his wand at Hermione Jean Granger upon thinking that he is never going to allow her to ever trick him again. An incredibly pain strikes directly into his heart as the curse, that is destined to destroy, leaves his wand. It is similar but still unlike the pain he felt yesterday evening, because this time around it feels much worse. Images begin flashing in front of his eyes and he screams in such an earthy, inhuman manner, that it is totally unrecognisable even to his own ears.

It's when everything turns black before his very eyes, and he drops to the floor unconscious. Only, it is not a peaceful, quiet black out. And like yesterday evening he is haunted with images of the people he hurt and the lives he took for his own selfish gain without a single moment of hesitation.

' _Why doesn't it work for me, Severus?'_

' _My – my Lord?' said Snape blankly. 'I don't understand. You – you have performed extraordinary magic with that wand.'_

' _No. I have performed my usual magic. I am extraordinary, but this wand … no. It has not revealed the wonders it has promised. I feel no difference between this wand and the one I procured from Ollivander all those years ago. No difference. My concern at the moment, Severus, is what will happen when I finally meet the boy!'_

' _My Lord, there can be no question, surely - ?'_

' – _but there is a question, Severus. There is. The Elder Wand, the Wand of Destiny, the Deathstick. I took it from its previous master. I took it from the grave of Albus Dumbledore. All this long night, when I am on the brink of victory, I have sat here wondering, wondering, why the Elder Wand refuses to be what it ought to be … I think I have the answer. Perhaps you already know it? You are a clever man, after all, Severus. You have been a good and faithful servant, and I regret what must happen.'_

' _My Lord!' Snape protested, raising his wand._

' _I must master the wand. Master the wand and I master Potter at last.'_

_And Voldemort spoke in Parseltongue: 'Kill.'_

_Snape's terrible screams filled the air as the snake fangs pierced his neck._

' _I regret it,' said Voldemort coldly. And with no regret or remorse in his heart, he left his faithful servant to die alone._

So why is it bothering him now? He does not feel remorse or regret. He doesn't! He is above those feelings. He did what needed to be done. Severus was the master to the Elder Wand. He had to kill him, he had too. He needed the wand to kill Potter. Only, he didn't … the boy died differently, not by his hand. He killed Snape for no good reason at all. A sting of regret stabs in his chest. NO! NO! He does not regret it! Severus had to die… he had too. He could not let the man live, knowing he was the true master of the Elder Wand. Severus would plot against him; try to take over his place…

Yes, the grease head was smart enough to do so. He probably had already started doing just that to begin with, with his best mate Lucius no doubt. Snape was waiting for him to win, in order to ambush him and take his place. It's why the chemistry freak never told him about the wand to begin with. He must have known. No, Lord Voldemort did the right thing by killing his so called faithful servant.

' _If Severus knew Dumbledore had the Elder Wand, why did he not take it on the night he killed the Headmaster?' a daunting voice says in his head. 'Why did he not take over your position straight away? You're just looking to excuse yourself from a murder that was unnecessary and utterly brutal. A misdeed against someone you considered a loyal follower. Someone, who had done nothing to block your path, he was merely a means to an end. That is how you treat people: as pawns that can be sacrificed. You do remember how it feels like to be a pawn, don't you Tom?' the voice snarls viciously._

'Noooooo!' he screams inside his head as images of his childhood flash through his mind. 'No, no, no, I am not them… I am not,' he mutters incoherently.

' _Of course you are!' the voice jeers. 'Remember this Tom?'_

_The old, toothless man, Voldemort was looking down on, was laughing at him scornfully. 'Kill me, then, Voldemort, I welcome death! But my death will not bring you what you seek … there is so much you do not understand …'_

_And he felt enraged, but not from the feeble old man's words, but from the summons he felt. If they were mistaken, and they did not have Potter, then … they would suffer his retribution._

' _Kill me, then!' demanded Gellert Grindelwald. 'You will not win, you cannot win! That wand will never, ever be yours –'_

_And his fury broke upon hearing those taunting words. 'Avada Kedavra!'_

_As the frail old body was lifted from its hard bed and fell back, lifeless, Voldemort turned around to the window feeling utterly wrathful. And not a single ounce of regret flew through his mind upon killing someone merely because his barely controllable fury with his servants needed an outlet._

His teenage role model, Gellert Grindelwald, and he killed the man. Why had he done that? What was the point? It was obvious he no longer had the Wand. It was obvious to him who had taken it from Grindelwald and the man was dying in Nurmengard Prison. He should have busted him out of there. No, of course not, the man was a failure; a weakling, who allowed Albus Dumbledore to defeat him. The man failed where he has succeeded and he has no room for screw ups.

' _Because you never do?' the voice taunts. 'You're infallible?'_

Loud, mocking laughter reaches his eardrums and it infuriates him. 'Leave me alone,' he mumbles, 'leave me alone.'

' _Oh,' the voice mocks, 'is the great Lord Voldemort upset now? Why don't you take another good look at what you did there? The life you destroyed so casually and only, because you couldn't control your temper. Other people are not disposable objects. Yet, you kill without hesitation and for no good reason at all. I guess you proved Mrs Cole and the others right.'_

Again, loud laughter swirls around in his mind, while foul images of his childhood pass by. Until they are replaced with the same scene and he hears his conversation with Gellert Grindelwald again. He sees the man die by his hand and shame overtakes him. He killed a feeble opponent. It was pointless. He should have just left. A sting of remorse over that action hits him. NO! NO! NO! He does not want to feel that. Lord Voldemort does not feel that. He is above those despicable emotions. No bloody Amulet will defeat him by screwing around with his mind! He grits his teeth and tries to resist the emotion, but it is powerful and while he fights it, another memory hits to the surface of his mind.

_Anger engulfed him as he saw the seven Potters rise up into the sky, but he knew they would protect the boy to the best of their abilities. So Voldemort flew straight towards the Auror, Alastor Moody. The toughest of them all. He would, undoubtedly, be escorting the real Potter to safety. Only the boy on the broomstick next to Moody screamed in terror and Disapparated! He knew Potter would never leave the scene and desert another in a crisis. Lord Voldemort chose wrongly! He should check out the others, but his wrath rose beyond believe._

_And with a flick of his wrist he cast the curse he intended for Potter towards the blasted Auror. He felt utterly satisfied, when his curse struck the man straight in the face and he plummeted to the ground, lifeless. Another enemy that would never bother him again. Mad Eye got exactly what he deserved for thwarting him with this insipid plan. And Voldemort flew off to find the real Potter, not caring for a moment about the death of a brave, self-sacrificing man._

Ah, but here he can feel happy about his achievement. No need for remorse or regret there. He killed a formidable enemy that night. Yes, it was a good thing the Auror died.

' _Really? So killing a man who did his duty to serve and protect, by preventing an orphan boy from dying is a good thing? Do you have such a bad memory? Need something to jug it up?' the voice sneered._

'Go away,' Voldemort mutters incoherently. 'Your feeble Elfish tricks will not work on me. There is nothing here. None of this is real.'

But he feels utterly distressed for no good reason at all. And he wipes his severely perspiring forehead when he becomes a witness to the next scene.

' _Let go of me!' Tom yelled and he tried to free his arm from the vice-like grip the stranger had on him._

' _Shut up, boy! Or I'll bash your head in!' the man snarled and he held up the cricket bat to underline the threat._

' _Not on my watch,' an angry male voice said quietly._

_Tom turned his head upon hearing the voice and he was relieved to see the police officer standing only a couple of feet away from them on the street._

' _Let go of the boy, now!' the officer said and he took a threatening step forward._

' _With pleasure,' the stranger sneered and he pushed five year old Tom into the bushes roughly. 'If there is one thing I enjoy more than getting rid of little, wandering kiddies then it has to be whacking a Copper.'_

_Tom scrambled to his feet, while the stranger swung his bat towards the police officer with so much force Tom heard the man's arm break upon impact. The policeman tried to fight back, but to Tom's horror he saw the man fall to the ground, lifeless, as the furious stranger struck him directly in the face with the cricket bat and blood spat everywhere. And he just stood there, frozen, not a single muscle wanted to move. The stranger swirled around; his eyes blood red, madness shining through them and he raised the bat to strike at Tom._

_Tom held out his hand to stop the blow from impacting on his head, when the stranger mysteriously hit himself in the face with his own bat so hard he would never wake up again. Shocked and surprised, little Tom looked from the two dead men in front of him to his own hands. What happened? Did he do that? People were going to call him a murderer. He would go to jail! And he panicked and ran back to the orphanage as hard and as fast as he could. Vowing to never tell anyone what happened._

'NOOO!' Voldemort screams inside his head and the terror of witnessing one of his scariest childhood moments makes his body stir slightly.

' _Oh yes, see the resemblance here, Tom?' the voice mocks._

And the scene becomes visible before his eyes again. The police officer plummets dead to the ground and everything freezes. Curious, Voldemort moves towards the frozen scene. His younger self is standing in front of the bushes, while the mad man is frozen in his swirl around towards him. He looks down at the dead man, knowing somewhere deep inside he shouldn't look, but he can't control himself, he has to look. And he sees … grizzled, dark grey hair and a vivid blue magical eye that rolls around in its socket independently.

Panicking, he looks up, straight into the face of the stranger that once attacked him, but it is not the stranger. Crimson eyes and snakelike features are staring right back at him and the bat has turned into a wand. The boy in the bushes! And he closes his eyes, because he doesn't want to witness this, but somehow that isn't helping. So he still sees emerald green eyes, messy black hair and a lighting bolt scar. He grabs a hold of his head and tries to get rid of the pounding pain that he is feeling.

'No, no, no,' Voldemort mutters.

He wants to shake the feeling. He needs to shake this feeling. It is despicable and weak and it hurts in his chest! Why is it hurting so much? He has never been bothered by any of this before. 'No more, no more,' he mumbles, determined to push the emotions away. 'I will not let this get to me.'

' _Think you can beat me at my game?' the voice sneers. 'Why don't you remember this?'_

Voldemort braces himself for the next flashes of memory and they come hurtling into his mind in Technicolor. He sees himself and how he sat in Malfoy Manor at the table surrounded by his followers and his one, still very alive, victim of the day. And he hears himself speak.

' _We are joined here tonight by Charity Burbage who, until recently, taught at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Yes … Professor Burbage taught the children of witches and wizards all about Muggles … how they are not so different from us. Not content with corrupting and polluting the minds of wizarding children, last week Professor Burbage wrote an impassioned defence of Mudbloods in the Daily Prophet. Wizards, she says, must accept these thieves of their knowledge and magic.'_

_A terrified, helpless woman rotates in the air as she pleads for help that does not come._

' _Avada Kedavra,' said Voldemort, and the lifeless body of yet another innocent person plummeted to the ground._

' _Dinner, Nagini,' Voldemort added softly. And the snake slithered from his shoulders onto the ground to eat a kind and generous woman._

Voldemort looks at the scenery confused. This doesn't bother him at all and he laughs out loud. 'Don't you elves have something better to show me?' he snarls victorious. 'That woman got exactly what she deserved for her foolish statements.'

It remains silent upon his taunts and he snorts triumphant. He knows he will beat this stupid Elfin trinket. Nothing and nobody beats Lord Voldemort. He feels no regret for killing a person who stood up for people who are unworthy and despicable creatures. Mudbloods, pffttt… they shouldn't be allowed to breathe for one single minute.

' _Then, how do you explain the fact that one of those unworthy and despicable creatures is your magical equivalent?' the voice jeers. 'Did Hermione nick your powers? You state that Muggle-borns steal their magic. So Hermione must have stolen yours to obtain hers? Did the Great Almighty Lord Voldemort let a little baby girl steal his magic? How pathetic.'_

'Do not drag her into this,' Voldemort hisses desperate.

Fear washes over him, but he can't stop it and Hermione's figure becomes visible. She is looking at him with that calm and serene expression on her face and those big brown eyes draw him in, instantaneously. He grabs a hold of his head again and wills the image away, but his own words begin to torment him and it isn't working. Why isn't it working? He knows Hermione is not there. She can't possibly be. He just cursed her into oblivion. But those brown eyes are still following him, and against his will, he starts to speak to her. His own mouth is moving beyond his control and it is repeating every foul thing he ever said about Mudbloods to her. He just wishes he could stop now and shut the hell up, but words keep on coming out of him.

And he sees two very hurt brown eyes look at him. Why doesn't she stop him? She has the power to do so. She is an incredible witch. He knows this to be true. And while he thinks this, more vile words slip from his mouth. Oh great, he remembers when he said those. He was only twenty-five at the time. And he is still talking on and on and on. Merlin, if this rubbish continues until he has repeated everything he ever said about Mudbloods then he will be here for an eternity.

Annoyed, that he can't overcome this and control his own speech, he gazes at the girl in front of him. She is crying now. Tears are falling down on her cheeks continuously, but she doesn't avert her eyes. He wishes she would. It's beginning to upset him to look at her, while he is saying these things. Perhaps he can look away. So he tries and discovers that also seems to be an impossible feat.

'Come on Hermione, just hex me. Do something. Stop me. Don't just stand there, woman,' he thinks, becoming utterly embarrassed and ashamed of his behaviour toward her.

Why is he acting this way? Why does he even care? It's not like this is real. The girl isn't really there. He knows this. He does. And he takes in those brown eyes thoroughly again. It pains him to see her sorrow. The sadness he is causing her to feel. He clutches on to his chest and plummets to the ground, but still, his pain doesn't make him stop talking and he screams in his head for someone to stop him. To make him stop talking, so he won't have to continue to look into Hermione's eyes and see her anguish. He feels his own desperation and his pain is unbearable. Please, someone just stop him, please.

Two soft hands take a hold of his and this time, he doesn't pull back. He can't bring himself to do it. As he looks up, he sees her concerned expression. It is quite similar as before.

'I am sorry,' he hears her say.

Why is she apologising? He is the assailant here. The sincerity of her words strikes him hard and he stares at her. He just can't stop staring at her. She is the first one who ever really meant those words when speaking them to him. He knows, because she is a dreadful liar. And he cursed her for it. He hurt her for it. Oh Merlin, and he screams out in pain, while letting go of her hands. A brush of cinnamon scent fills his slit for nostrils. How can he smell her, if she isn't there? He feels her arms wrap around him and she pulls him into a hug. Why is she even there? She should kill him, now that she has a chance. Why is she comforting him? Why does he feel comforted by her presence? This is all way too confusing. What is wrong with him? And he opens his eyes.

The first thing he misses is her smell and then her arms. She isn't there anymore. An empty feeling overwhelms him as he takes in the wooden beams at the ceiling. It wasn't real, none of it was real. But somehow that is not a comforting thought to him. It is almost like there is something missing right now, but he can't identify what and it pains him. The bones in his body pain him. It's when he realises he is lying in painful contact with the hard floor of his study. Did he pass out? Again? And he sits up abruptly. His eyes widen in shock as he notices Hermione standing in the middle of the room with his wand in her hand. He sits there, frozen still for a couple of seconds, before realising that she is unresponsive, staring into thin air like she is seeing something that isn't there.

It appears he isn't the only one who is having problems with that Amulet. So, he scrambles to his feet and watches the destruction in the room with some amusement. He swirls around and paces into the hall to check on the familiar looking hole in the wall. One glance through it confirms his suspicions and he snorts at the visual of Lucius on the floor who is still out cold. Stupid idiot. He must have tried to hex Granger, but … why did she stop him? The puzzling question etches on his brain, while he slowly turns around and contemplates on the situation.

He stares at the girl who is just standing there. Her face is utterly pale and her eyes seem distressed to him. She mutters something incoherently as he calmly moves toward her. He definitely needs his wand back. No matter what … he cannot allow her to keep a hold of it. It is too dangerous. She may realise…

He practically jerks from the suddenness of Hermione's next move. She falls down on her knees and hits the ground pretty hard. Her hands fall in her lap and she is still staring into thin air. She doesn't notice him or she doesn't care. And he carefully lowers himself next to her, determined not to make any sudden moves that may draw her out of this stupor.

'I didn't, I didn't,' she says distressed, 'I couldn't … I couldn't.'

Slowly, Lord Voldemort takes a hold of her wand hand and removes the wand from it. He is pretty certain now that she is aware he is there, but she keeps on talking and he hears the fearful undertone in her voice.

'That's not me. It isn't,' Hermione says.

It sounds like she is trying hard to convince herself. What, on earth, could that Amulet have shown her? Did he miss something in her mind? She has darkness inside of her of that much he is certain, but she hasn't committed any serious acts yet. Or has he missed something? He couldn't have, but she is shivering. And he remembers how only moments ago Hermione held him in her arms and how that felt, even though it was not real. He can gain a definite advantage here. And he wraps an arm around her shoulder and pulls her close. The corner of his mouth tugs upward as he feels her cling on to him, and he decides it probably will not hurt if he reassures her a bit.

'Whatever it was you saw, it's not real, you know,' Voldemort says quietly, caressing her hair. 'It's that Amulet. You're right here. None of it happened.'

She doesn't respond, but he doesn't need her to. So he sits there, holding her trembling body in his arms. It is oddly nice and wonderful to do, even though his left leg has fallen asleep underneath him and his right is beginning to prickle and sting from the uncomfortable position it is in. But he does not let little inconveniences bother him. He is Lord Voldemort and physical restraints do not count for him. So he keeps holding on tightly to Hermione, while contemplating on everything that happened to him.

How on earth could he have passed out again? He realises it must be the Amulet, but it is impossible. He blocked those powers, so they would not reach him. They were supposed to only be cast upon Granger, so what was the reason for the exception? He stares at the broken window that is obviously been hit by the Killing Curse, when it hits him. Both times when he passed out, he was feeling absolutely ferocious towards her. He hated her.

Hate? Could that have been the trigger? And he barely nods his head. It has to be. Hate is the emotion the Amulet thrives upon and it … Oh Salazar, how could he have been so stupid? The bloody magical pathway from Granger to him. He wants to hit himself in the head, but his arms are quite full at the moment. So he settles for mentally scolding himself and going over the possibility that he got hit with those icky feelings due to their connection.

Their magical compatibility has to be why the Amulet responded to his feelings of hatred towards her and acted upon that. Now, under any other circumstance the Amulet's powers of remorse and regret would be cast on Granger and he would benefit from the soul-healing part alone. Only, his feelings of hate were towards her and this must have, inadvertently, activated the magical pathway from her to him, making it possible for both the powers of the Amulet to hit him.

Damn, he should have considered this in advance. This must be it. The answer to his embarrassing fainting experiences. So that means that … if he is right … he can prevent it from happening again. He just needs to keep his emotions in check. He can do that easily, piece of cake. If she aggravates him again, all he needs to do is prevent himself from starting to feel hatred. He can always leave if push comes to shove. Good, good, he has solved the problem. No more silly and disgusting feelings for him. Not to mention those bleeding memories won't be bothering him again.

He holds in a relieved sigh when he considers how much more that Amulet could have shown him. Snape, Grindelwald, Moody and that stupid teacher. Please, would anyone mind if he laughs mockingly now? And he rolls his eyes to the ceiling. Of all the things to choose from, this is what that Elfin trinket comes up with? Amateurs. They really need a lesson in how to manipulate people, because this certainly isn't going to achieve the results they want. Once his soul is healed and he can remove this Amulet from Granger's neck, he is going to create a nice little Horcrux upon killing Maglor. Yes, he most definitely is. And he cherishes the wonderful thought. Such a delicious prospect, he is already looking forward to the day when he will be able to achieve it.

He strokes Hermione's hair absentmindedly. Once he has removed the Amulet of Aine from the premises, she will join him easily. If there is one thing this Amulet is showing him, then it is that her darkness is even bigger than he assumed. He looks down at the woman in his arms. She is still clinging on to him. He likes the feeling, and he plans to take full advantage of this momentary display of weakness from her. His eyes dart back to the window. She cast a Killing Curse when he was out cold. That makes three of them. Only two more and she will be hooked to the Dark Arts indefinitely. You can't cast that Unforgivable without repercussions to your magic, even when you don't hit anyone. It's the intention that counts. And the neural response that curse gives you, makes it too luring to continue to resist it after a couple of tries.

Lord Voldemort smiles when he realises she hasn't cast it on him. She must have wanted to; otherwise she wouldn't have hit the window out of frustration. So she was unable to kill him herself, and for some reason, she has also prevented Lucius from killing him. A satisfied and pleased glint darts through his eyes. He is getting closer to sway her. A part of her wants to take him up on his offer. He knows this has to be the case. She is just being foolish. Held back by her upbringing and the silly morals she has been thought at Hogwarts. But he will get her to join him. It is only a matter of time. Once that Amulet is out of the way and he has her parents…

Then, it will be all over. Victory will be his in the end as it is supposed to be. They'll live happily ever after; and forever. Let's not forget forever in that ending, because he most certainly will never die. A happy feeling swirls through his body as he daydreams on this lovely prospect, while the sun sets on the horizon.

'I cursed Malfoy,' Hermione suddenly whispers hoarse.

'I saw the hole in the wall,' he replies shrugging.

'I think you may need a new window too,' she says timidly.

It amuses him, but now is not the time to upset her. Now is the time to be considered and kind and disgustingly understanding.

'Shall I be in need of a new supply of owls as well?' he asks, making certain to give her a joyous look, so she won't feel more burdened than she already is feeling.

'What?' she asks bemused and he sees her frown at him.

'Oh nothing,' he says smirking. 'Come, let's get you cleaned up.'

He pulls her up, but she flinches in pain, so he halts abruptly and gazes at her questionably.

'Where are you injured?' he demands to know.

'Like you don't know that,' she replies resentful.

Oh good, it seems her usual perky spirit is already returning, but what to tell her? He'd rather she isn't aware of everything that just happened to him, but if he doesn't answer her question, it will spoil his opportunity here. She is no fool after all. So he decides on the truth to be on the safe side.

'I remember which curse I cast, but I did not see it hit,' he responds softly. 'So where are you injured?'

And he notices her discomfort and indecisiveness in this manner, so he gives her some time to consider her only option, which is to tell him what happened, naturally, by escorting her back to the couch. She is staring at the ground, but he can still see the doubt on her face.

'I won't hurt you, Hermione,' he whispers reassuringly. 'You obviously healed the bleeding already, but the damage underneath will be more severe.' And he lifts her chin to meet his eyes. 'You need my help to heal this. It will get a lot worse the longer you wait. Let me help you.'

Lord Voldemort places enough force and pressure into those last words for her to comply to his wishes, because he needs her to tell him. He cannot afford to lose her. She is too important for his future plans. He wants her there. She is his. And he never relinquishes what belongs to him. A rush of delight strikes him when he sees her nod affirmatively in surrender. He hears the quietly spoken words that tell him, his curse struck her in the chest, but he relishes in her sudden apprehension and the way she is definitely averting her eyes. It is obvious she understands he is in control here.

Such a delightful, clever woman, and he gazes at her intently, drowning himself in her submissive appearance. He follows the contours of her face with his finger. Mine is the only word that occupies his mind as he lowers her onto the couch. He pretends not to notice her anxiety and trembling as he cleans her up with a simple Scouring Charm and unbuttons her blouse to take a look at the damage he inflicted upon her. He frowns when he sees the wound. Merlin, he is lucky she survived that one. And he shakes his head in disbelieve of his own foolishness.

'I can't believe you were able to mend that on your own,' he utters admiring.

Intuitive magic is what truly healed her. He will recognise the signs anywhere. He can see the casting of the Healing Charms she performed, but they were not what saved her. It was her magical instinct of survival. She intuitively used the Force and healed the vital damage with it. She really has no idea how powerful she is. How powerful she can become with proper guidance. One day he will show her who she can be. Oh yes, he will. He is so looking forward to the day he can finally begin teaching her.

But first, he needs to heal her properly. There is only one way to remedy the curse he used and he is glad to have obtained it from Le Fay's secret hideout. It was easy to find, _if_ … you looked in the right area. And the fools, who searched for it previously, misinterpreted the clues Morgan Le Fay left in her writings. Or rather, they overlooked the one vital hint that was in there. He had, of course, made sure the hint became lost after discovering the tomb. So now it has become impossible to find the place by anyone ever again. The knowledge is all his and his alone.

And he starts to perform the chant. It takes all his concentration, because the language of the chant is a combination of Parseltongue and the Elfin language, as well as ancient Celtic and Hindi. And it is quite the complex chant that calls upon the powers of the Kundalini. Invoking the snake, that lays dormant around the spine to become active and start its self-healing mechanism, is quite a challenge to perform right. But once he has it moving, it will slither around in order to retract and distribute the chi from the inhaled air to the damaged areas of the body. It will heal the wound without leaving behind any marks or lasting physical problems.

His wand is swishing back and forth, while he focuses on the wound and he keeps chanting in deep concentration. He can feel the snake start to move and begin to heal, when it suddenly disappears. For a second, he doesn't understand why, since he did everything right, but then he notices Granger is panicking. And Kundalini requires serenity and a certain amount of calmness of mind. So he stops the chant and tries to get her attention.

'Hermione. Hermione, look at me,' says Voldemort demanding and he takes a hold of her head with one hand. 'I need you to calm down. It's alright.'

'What … are … you … doing … to … me?' she says gasping for air between words.

He takes a look at her and embraces her with his hands. 'I am healing you. I know it is a rather unconventional manner and somewhat creepy.'

'Somewhat?'

'However,' Voldemort continues without acknowledging her resentful comment, 'Le Fay's Healing Chants are the only remedy to this particular curse.'

And he is utterly pleased when he hears the totally expected rant that follows. It is so nice of her to admit it is such a high achievement of him to find and be able to use said chants. Arrogantly, he watches the little one on the couch, until she halts and squints her eyelids in clear suspicion at him. A growl escapes her mouth and she snarls: 'Been nicking artefacts again?'

He smirks. 'You know … that is a lovely idea. I hadn't considered doing that, _yet_. However, once this Amulet has healed my soul, I do need a new object to cast a fragment into,' he says, longing for the day to finally be able to make a new Horcrux. 'But before … Well, there was really no need to raid the tomb. From the amount of dust and debris it was clear that no one has ever entered it before me. I believe the scrolls are quite safe where Le Fay hid them.'

'Oh yes, quite safe. Let's just keep all the useful knowledge hidden. God forbid someone will benefit from it.'

Oh, she really can be so naïve; not to mention she is so adorably innocent at times when she forgets his true nature and objectives upon hearing something that contains knowledge. He'll have to set her straight on the matter, because as cute as she is in her naïveté, it quite pities him that she assumes he plans on sharing something this powerful with the idiots out there.

'Do you honestly expect me to share the knowledge on how to undo the damage to some of my more advantageous curses, Hermione?' Voldemort says. 'Anyway, you are profiting from the knowledge now. So please remain still, while I finish this chant. It takes a lot of concentration to perform.'

'I be…'

His finger presses down on her lips to stop her from speaking up any further. And Lord Voldemort sends her a clearly irritated warning glance. Their eyes lock and, fortunately, she gets the message, because otherwise he would have had no other choice but to use the Imperius Curse on her. He focuses his attention back on the wound and starts to heal her.

After a while, his magic gives him the signal that the snake is returning to his spot along the spine. Its work is done. Now, all he has to do is make the finishing touches. He places his hand on Hermione's chest, closes his eyes and focuses on administering heat to the newly formed cells in order for the metabolism to speed up, which will prevent any internal scarring. A sudden stir underneath his hand informs him Hermione is freaking out again, but he is able to reassure her quite easily. And he enjoys the power his mere presence is beginning to have on her state of being. It makes him decide to play a little game with her after he finishes healing her completely. The verbal sparring that follows is quite enjoyable to him and she walks right into his trap. He laughs inwardly as she sticks her nose in the air and folds her arms over each other as if she has won the argument. It is so nice of her to confirm his assumptions. She is such a dreadful Occlumens when she is angry.

With a swift move, he pulls her toward him and passionately captures her mouth with a kiss. He feels her arms sneak around his waist and he withdraws from her lips to look her straight into the eye. They stare at each other quite heatedly, when triumph and desire surges through him.

'Liar,' Voldemort says feeling thoroughly ecstatic.

He pulls her soft body tightly against his and another all-consuming kiss follows, while he lifts her from the couch to go to the bedroom. Without the window in place, there is too much of a draft in here and he doesn't feel like fixing it at the moment. He has far better ideas to spend his time on, far better.

The next morning Lord Voldemort walks through the corridors of Hogwarts feeling utterly rejuvenated. He actually feels like skipping, but he contains his impulse in order not to display such a disturbing, happy visual to the students. His state of mind isn't anybody's business. A loud scream flares through the corridor, coming from the Restricted Section of the library. He glances through the doors and sees one of the little midgets is being devoured whole by a book. Snippets of paper are flying all around the eleven year old and the child is being attacked and picked at by more than a thousand paper birds that are eating him alive. This really is a terrific day. Opening up that Section to everyone has truly been a splendid idea. The entertainment it provides… Not to mention the nice cleansing of true talent it gives him.

His mood even further up, he continues to walk when he, suddenly, hears someone huffing and puffing behind him. He swirls around and sees Lucius Malfoy limping towards him. He smiles brightly and can't help but thinking that it is delightful Malfoy has finally got a good reason to walk around with that posh cane of his.

'Lucius,' he says, nodding courteous towards the blond, because it is such a beautiful day.

'My Lord … the Aurors have entered the Smith's residence, but there is no one present anymore. It seems they left in a hurry, since the manor has not been emptied completely,' Lucius says panting.

'I see,' Voldemort replies slowly. 'Has their vault at Gringots been secured and sealed up already?'

Lucius coughs uncomfortably. 'The Unspeakables can't get near to it. There … eh … apparently … is a badger that stands in their way.'

Voldemort just stares at Malfoy, trying not to laugh out loud at the concept of a fury, little, earthworm eating creature stopping fully grown, mature wizards and witches from doing their job. 'A badger?' he says snorting, holding out his hands apart to indicate the average size of the creature.

Malfoy shrugs. Clearly, he isn't getting the problem either.

'What's next? The attack of the fuzzy, cuddly, pink bunnies?' he adds laughing.

Really, sometimes he wonders about the standards and qualifications of their employees that the Unspeakable's Office holds dear. And he continues his walk towards the castle's front doors, while Lucius tries to keep up with him and keeps on informing him about the Smith situation.

'You know, Lucius,' Voldemort says joyous and he slaps the shocked pureblood on the back. 'Why don't we take a little look in the Smith Manor ourselves? I have nothing to do. Not until later today anyway, and I sincerely doubt Hermione will be up any time soon.'

Lord Voldemort snickers softly. Even if she is up and about, she won't be moving easily after last night. He certainly kept her entertained for hours. A broad smile, along with a sigh, escapes him as he remembers how incredibly noisy she became. And for someone who doesn't exercise, she sure is flexible. He still wonders how she managed to… Ah well, it doesn't matter. And he tries to shake the visual and considers whether he can leave her alone here for a brief period.

She knows he can find her wherever she goes. And there is nothing here; he can not live without if she destroys it. Besides Hermione will undoubtedly spend her precious time by going through his library, while she considers herself protected from the Arts by the Amulet of Aine. But he is not concerned about her reading the volumes without being affected by them. In the end, the knowledge alone will be a sufficient enough lure to her and he doubts she will be able to refrain from using it. It will be safe to let her be for a little while. So he paces on towards the cleverly disguised, and heavily warded, Apparation Portal on the grounds of Hogwarts.

Finally, he turns around and sees Lucius struggling to keep up. Without him noticing, Malfoy has fallen behind considerably. His otherwise pale face is completely red and his right leg is definitely bothering him. Well, that serves him right for trying to curse Granger after his specific orders to leave the girl alone. Lord Voldemort doesn't feel like helping out Lucius and his little leg issues at the moment. He leans back against the oak tree next to the Portal and starts twirling his wand around. He is looking forward to some action. Hopefully, he can find a clue to the Smiths' whereabouts in their mansion. Killing them will certainly make this wonderful day even lovelier.

He sighs impatiently when Lucius has reached him at last and they both Apparate to the Smith's Manor. He smirks upon noticing the iron gates in front of the house are decorated with the Hufflepuf Badger. Like anyone needs the reminder to whom the arrogant fools are descendants from. He remembers very clearly how impossible it was to hold a conversation with any of them without it being mentioned, at least, give or take a dozen times. He flings open the gates with a flick of his wand and strides towards the imposing house. Malfoy is following with some difficulty in his wake. At the large, wooden, heavily decorated, carved doors, he is welcomed to the premises by the Auror in charge of the scene, Miss Donahue.

'My Lord, it is an honour to meet you in person,' the Auror lady says. 'We are currently in the process of cataloguing and investigating all possible items and writings that may give us an indication as to where the Smiths have taken refuge.'

'I'd like to take a look around myself,' Voldemort says courteous.

'Naturally, if we can be of assistance…' the Head Auror stops talking when one of her colleagues passes them by in a hurry.

'Don't forget to sign out at the office, Dora!' Donahue shouts out after the rushed woman, who looks over her shoulder and waves in a somewhat apprehensive manner.

Voldemort frowns as he sees the other lady Auror Disapparate. He had no idea that it is already time for a shift change? Donahue notices his frown and explains. 'Dora Figg has some family problems and since it technically is her day off, we agreed she could leave for home during work in case of an emergency. She'll be back shortly, though.'

He nods understandingly, and enters the house after Donahue, but for some reason he looks back over his shoulder and glares at the now suspiciously empty garden path. Why does he have this sudden strange, uncanny feeling of danger?

Lucius, who is standing behind him, is now looking at him with a frown. 'Problems, Master?'

'Maybe,' he says hesitatingly. 'Lucius, go check out the Auror that just left for me, will you?'

'This Dora Figg woman?' Lucius asks.

Lord Voldemort nods affirmatively and he feels somewhat more at easy when Lucius leaves to check the credentials of the young woman. If there is something out of the ordinary with her, Lucius will figure it out. The man is after all not completely hopeless. And his contacts in the Wizarding World have always been quite valuable to him.

'My Lord?' Auror Donahue asks politely and she holds out the door to the large living room chamber. 'We found that this room is basically left intact. We assume the Smiths were interrupted when they were on the verge of emptying the mansion and hadn't got around to this chamber yet.'

'That sounds like a plausible explanation,' Voldemort replies evenly.

And he strolls casually through the completely emptied hall, taking in every detail. Only a large crystal chandelier is still hanging from the ceiling, but they even took the paintings on the wall with them. He can tell because of the discolouration that is visible on the ugly flowery wallpaper. Why would anyone choose that to burden their eyes upon day in day out? He halts beside the Auror and stares into the living room in shock. It is thoroughly filled with all kinds of wobbly furniture in all sorts of ridiculous colours. Little statues of all kinds of creatures are to be found on everything that has a flat surface. And he sees stuffed animals, knitted table-cloths, overly decorated torches and lamps, a piano with a huge angel on top that has spread out his wings, and so many more disgusting items he doesn't even know how to begin to describe them. He wonders how on earth anyone could live here.

'It's a bit overdone,' says Miss Donahue in a clear understatement.

'I'll say that,' Voldemort adds snorting, 'and I thought Hepzibah was bad. These people are definitely related to her.'

A loud high shriek sounds through the living room and in the back a man in dark blue robes is jumping up and down excitedly holding up a small figurine in his hand. 'I found it Marvin,' the man mocks, 'my endless search is over. My long life wish fulfilled. My quest is done. Behold thee for the arrival of the dancing bear in the pink tutu. My wife will be so pleased that I finally obtained this priceless artefact.'

'Tell Lucy I'll be her witness during the divorce proceedings,' Marvin responds dryly, while eyeing the figurine in amusement.

'A disbeliever!' shouts the man and he backs away from Marvin slowly. 'Beware thou for the wrath of the Holy Roar! It will fall upon thou ignorant mortal flesh.'

And Voldemort sees the blue robed man place the figurine on a stone pedestal and kneel down before it. 'Oh almighty …'

'That's quite enough Alvin,' Donahue says amused and she enters the living room after the Dark Lord took a hold of the door for her and gestures her to enter first. 'Let's try to uphold some form of professionalism while doing ones job, shall we?'

Alvin gets back on his feet snickering. 'Sorry, Mary, but I've been in this room for more than twelve hours now. Any minute longer without a release and they can ship me to the permanent ward of St. Mungo's directly.'

'Too late,' mutters Marvin softly.

'I heard that,' Alvin responds, grabbing the figurine and holding it out threatening towards his colleague.

Marvin holds his hands up in the air in mock fright. 'Have mercy oh Holy Bear.'

'Holy Roar,' Alvin corrects.

'I beg your pardon, your Bearness.'

Donahue shakes her head and sighs, before turning around back to him. 'I apologise for them, but we seem to be having problems in hiring normal individuals these days,' she says tiresome.

Lord Voldemort smirks and is about to hand over his deepest sympathies to her for having to deal with such dreadful company, but when he steps through the doorway and feels the magic around him shift in temperament, he freezes. It turns violent, dangerous. How did he miss those wards? In a blink of an eye, all the doors and shutters in front of the windows slam shut. And it turns utterly dark. Merlin, this is not good. Swiftly, he pulls out his wand.

'Lumos,' Donahue casts.

'What the devil?!' shouts Marvin in the back, while Alvin is standing dumbfounded with the figurine in his hands before realising it is not his wand and making the switch quickly.

Voldemort swirls around, trying to focus on the magic that is about to attack. He closes his eyes and, with a fluent motion, he whips his wand above his head. However, the magic has not taken a stationary position and he feels it oscillate out of his reach when, with a tremendous crash, the Smith Mansion implodes, leaving nothing but debris in its wake.


	20. Chapter 20

**Spoilers:** All Harry Potter books, including Deathly Hallows.

 **Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The same goes for the delicious song text from The Boss. Roar. And I also am not Mario Puzo… so… you get the drill.

 **Author's note:** Hermione's POV.

* * *

**The Bittersweet Taste of Victory**

_You had a hold on me right from the start  
A grip so tight I couldn't tear it apart  
My nerves all jumping, acting like a fool  
Your kisses they burn, but your heart stays cool_

_Romeo and Juliet; Samson and Delilah  
Baby, you can bet, their love they didn't deny  
Your words say split, but your words they lie_

_'cause when we kiss - Fire! Fire!  
Burning in my soul  
It's out of control  
_

Bruce Springsteen, Fire. _  
_

**Chapter twenty**

In the vague, still half asleep mist of my mind I register an arm that sneaks around my waist and pulls me tightly against the warm body behind me. Drowsy, I look through my only slightly opened eyes. I am just to plain tired to wake properly and it obviously is still night, so I just refuse to wake and close my eyes again. There is nobody else here. No, I am definitely not feeling someone nibble from my neck to my ear. Oh that tickles. And I open my eyes resentful, when I feel a leg move over my own. You've got to be kidding me! I can't possibly move a single muscle anymore. Doesn't that man ever get tired?

'Go away,' I mumble annoyed.

A chuckle sounds against my cheek. 'But you are so lovely when you sleep, Hermione,' Voldemort responds teasingly.

'And I could have continued to appear lovely had you not woken me. Now, the illusion is gone,' I say yawning.

'Hmmm… I like the reality better,' he whispers and he kisses me again.

I feel his arm starting to turn me around and he is moving on top of me. No bloody way! And with a relatively easy gesture, probably because he didn't see it coming and because he is moving in the same direction, I am able to push him all the way over me and he topples over and crashes onto the ground beside the bed. Oops.

'Sorry,' I mutter, without really meaning it, because I am hoping he impacted onto the ground with a certain part of his anatomy real hard.

I turn to my other side, take a hold of the covers and snuggle underneath it. I am going to go back to sleep now. He can just do whatever it is that men do to relieve themselves. I don't know; get a magazine or an inflatable doll or whatever. Nice and comfortable, I am lying in the soft bed when, suddenly, magic tugs on my body and I shriek as I get tossed through the air and land on top of him. Ouch. Had I mentioned before that he is all skin and bones? Really, it's not exactly something soft to land on.

Two arms fling around me and tug me into a, no doubt, more convenient position for him. I pull my head away from his chest and glare angrily straight into two amused dark eyes. Dark? I blink and look back into two crimson ones. Yeah, that is what I remember; I must have not been awake properly just yet. I am about to sarcastically make the inflatable doll suggestion when Voldemort beats me to it.

'Why would I have use for something like _that_ when I have my very own personal and alive doll at my beg and call?' he says smirking.

'Well, this _doll_ ,' I snarl, 'is going back to bed.'

And I try to push myself up, but he has a tight hold of me. I truly don't get how someone that skinny can be that strong.

'You're not going anywhere, until I have been completely satisfied by you, _doll_ ,' he says tauntingly.

I just stare at him in astonishment. This is impossible. He can't possibly have the energy to get it up again, but I feel something against the inside of my thigh that tells me otherwise. Alright fine, _I_ don't have the energy to possibly do this again. Besides, every inch of my body is already feeling sore from everything we did earlier on in this night. I really can't use him inside of any part of me.

'Kiss me, Hermione,' Voldemort commands.

My jaw drops and I am totally dumbfounded. He can't be serious. A hand falls on the base of my skull. I close my eyes and groan in desire as he hits me with his magic. The delightful, tingling sensation travels through my body and, subconsciously, I arch into the magic. His mouth captures mine and we kiss deliciously. No, I really can't. I will never be able to move… Another brush of his magic.

' _Oooohhh_ …' I moan. This is so cheating.

' _Expected me to play fair, doll?'_ I hear inside my mind.

Oh terrific, now he is using Leglimency as well. 'Just leave me the hell alone,' I think repeatedly.

' _Is that what you really want, dear?'_

And a jolt of magic strikes directly into my spine and I gasp loudly when my back arches so forcefully it feels like it is about to snap. He takes advantage of my opened mouth and plants his tongue inside of me. He has a vicelike grip of my head and I can't escape him as he explores my mouth fully. My eyes flutter shut and I lean into him, into his kiss. And his hands travel to my hips, teasing my skin with magic. Feelings of lust and wontedness travel so fast through me that I almost can't breathe anymore. And I pull away from his lips for air. I see the amused glint in his eyes as he takes in my dishevelled, aroused appearance and he hits me again with his magic.

'Damn you!' I scream desperate, while clutching on to him, and he laughs loudly in response.

' _Spread your legs, doll,' he orders calmly._

And I want him, but I can't. I know I can't… My legs are refusing to take that position again. I'll never walk or be able to sit ever again if we do this once more. I'm already way to sore and …

' _Let me in, Hermione; or you rather I punish you for disobeying me? I do recall you were complaining to Rodolphus about him lacking the ability to make you scream…' he says in my mind, while a hint of cruelty shines through his eyes._

'Ahhhhh!' I yell loudly when an empty feeling arises from between my legs and it is agonising.

Cheater. And I try to move, but my legs won't budge on inch. They are on strike. They are not doing my bidding. And I really do need him inside of me, now. I want some fulfilment, some form of release.

'Help me,' I groan, panting against his chest.

And he lifts my chin to meet his eyes again. His gaze draws me in and I feel overwhelmed by it when his lips brush against mine and he whispers softly: 'Imperio.'

The next thing I know is him inside of me as he moved my unwilling muscles to part. We kiss passionately as he commands my body to move in angles I wouldn't even have been able to do before we _'exercised'_ all night long. It is a most disquieting and overpowering experience to have sex while under the Imperius Curse. For all I see, hear, feel, taste, and smell is him. Everything I sense is him. All there is in this world is him.

After a whole hour of unimaginably terrific sex, he lays me back onto the bed, before lifting the Imperius Curse of me and reality comes crashing in. Now, I definitely can't move a single muscle anymore. Ouch. I glare at his comfortably sitting figure and he smirks at me. He actually has the nerve to smirk at me right now. Perhaps … I can move an arm. And I swing my fist into his upper arm, which results in him squealing like a baby, before he starts rubbing his arm.

'Really, talk about overreacting? Can't the big, bad, scary Dark Lord take a little, girly punch?' I mock and I add a nice, condescending snore to it.

'Just so you know, your punches are incredibly vicious,' he responds when he is finally done rubbing his arm.

'Good.'

Two hands are placed on either side of my head and to my utter shock and dismay he leans forward, halting inches away from my face with a mischievous glint in his eyes. Oh come on … this is ridiculous. He is like three times my age and I am exhausted. He should need a respirator right about now. Worried, I look back into his still round pupil eyes and he smiles before kissing me on my cheek.

'I was planning to hand you a Restorative Potion, dear,' he whispers into my ear, 'but I suppose, if you have energy for those cheeky responses, I am free to assume you are not in need of it?'

He moves back up, but only just. And he waits for my reply as he shifts the weight of his upper body to be carried by one elbow, holding his head in his hand and caressing my hair with his free hand. I just look at him silently. He knows perfectly well I am in need of a Restorative Potion, but if he is not planning on supplying it, I doubt I can change his mind. His eyes are scanning my face, like he has never seen it before and it is beginning to unnerve me.

'Silence, my little doll?' Voldemort says softly and he kisses my forehead.

'What do you want me to say to that?' I respond quietly, because I feel somewhat concerned about the outcome of this. 'You've seen in my mind how much my body aches at the moment. But if you won't help me out here, there is not much I can do to change that.'

'True,' he calmly states, 'but I do owe you a life debt, Hermione. You can demand a favour.'

I shake my head briefly and bite my lip. 'You don't owe me anything,' I whisper. 'It's fine.'

I notice his confusion and he frowns at me, while continuing to stroke the side of my face and my hair. 'You do realise that a wizard's life debt…'

'I know,' I interrupt.

I close my eyes and lean into his touch. It feels so nice. I really do know that I am releasing him of a huge obligation. And even though a part of me doesn't understand why I am simply tossing something away that can give me a clear advantage over him, I still do it, because it feels the right thing to do. I don't think that my cursing Lucius Malfoy into oblivion justifies a life debt. I could have just stunned the pureblood, but I crossed the line again with the curse I used. Adding a life debt on top of that makes it even worse. I don't want to become the nightmare I witnessed yesterday. I feel his lips on mine and he gives me a gentle kiss, while wiping away a tear that had fallen on my face without me noticing it.

'You're a remarkable woman, Hermione Granger,' Voldemort says calmly. 'Slightly naïve, but still remarkable.'

A flick of his wrist and a vial appears in there with a familiar light blue liquid. He brings it to my lips and pours the potion down my throat. I taste the overly sugary flavour and shiver for a moment. Voldemort is smiling at me and his eyes have turned completely dark. I just stare into them as they slowly shift back to red. I had seen it correctly before. It wasn't a figment of my imagination or just tiredness. His eyes seem to change back to their original colour at times. Odd.

'You need to rest for half an hour to allow the potion to do its work properly.'

'I know.'

'It won't restore you to full health, so be careful when you get out of bed, dear.'

I nod in acknowledgement and I blur out the question that has been on my mind for quite some time this night. 'How come you don't need it?'

A triumphant smile becomes visible and he tilts his head. 'Interested in the Dark Arts again?'

'Oh, never mind.'

Voldemort shakes his head slowly. 'After reading a couple of Dark Arts books yesterday, don't tell me that you are still biased to the Arts? You're an intelligent woman, Hermione. Surely, you can acknowledge the powers they behold and judge the usefulness of the spells on their merits alone, instead of clinging on to useless morals and restrictions that were imposed upon you by fools who do not understand everything the Arts are about.'

'I will not underestimate the threat they pose, even if some spells, attributes or potions may seem useful,' I respond frowning, because he definitely has struck a nerve there.

'May?' Voldemort responds immediately, noticing the clear opening I left there.

'There must have been a reason as to why they were classified into the Arts to begin with,' I say feeble.

And I hear how weak and lame that argument is as it leaves my mouth. But I have nothing better, because, besides horrific charms and rotten theories, I've also read about several useful spells and potions yesterday for which I still can't find a good reason as to why they were deemed forbidden in the first place. Perhaps it had something to do with who invented them or how they had been used in the past. It's often not the knowledge itself, but the way it is used that causes the damage. And I can't believe I just thought that. I … I …

Shocked, I notice Voldemort is watching me intently. Is he snooping through my mind again?

'You're not wrong there, Hermione,' he quietly says, proving my suspicions right. 'Ignorance and stupidity is why others were denied the ability to openly use the benefits the Arts can provide. It was fear of the unknown. Fear of those, who could not control the Arts. Fear of those lesser talented witches and wizards. The Arts are one of the few subjects in which one cannot hide behind the skill of another. So banning it enabled those fools to remain in a position of power. It always has been their fear, to be exposed as the mediocre people they truly are, that caused the Arts to receive the completely unfounded bad reputation it had during your schooldays.'

Yeah, right, completely unfounded. And I roll my eyes to the ceiling.

'This is …' and I sigh, 'it's your usually one-sided reasoning. You accuse others of ignorance and stupidity, yet you fail to want to see all sides of a situation yourself. You only value what you deem is worth something and everything else is rubbish, because you don't understand or know it. If there is someone who has fear of the unknown, it is you.'

'Is it love you're referring too?' Voldemort mocks and he pats me condescendingly on the head, before getting up and strolling towards the bedroom door. A flick of his wrist and his usual black robes fall over his body elegantly. He halts in the doorway and gives me a pitying glance before continuing his anti-love rant.

'There is no need to go all Dumbledoresk on me here, dearest. For I do not fear love, Hermione Granger, I despise it. It's a useless and weak emotion. And you would do well to renounce it yourself, for love and all those other feeble emotions have held you back from living up to your full magical potential. Love,' he spats disgusted and as he swirls out the room in a whisk, I still hear what he says more to himself than to me. 'It's powerless and nothing to be afraid of.'

'And yet, there is nothing you fear more in this world,' I think thoughtful as I hear his eerie, cold, high-pitched laugh resonate through the walls.

* * *

A couple of hours later, I stumble toward the study chamber. I thought about staying in bed this morning, since I still feel rather sore, despite the Restorative Potion. But I know I only have limited time with this Amulet, so I figure I better take my chance and read some more of those tomes, before I no longer can. I just hope I can find something useful in there. Something Voldemort overlooked with his biased perspective. I glance at the back of the tomes, dubbing on which one to pick, when I see The Art of Potions written by A.B. Culthrop. I pull it from the shelf, curiously, while my mind whirls back to a conversation I overheard in my sixth year at Hogwarts.

' _My dear man, surely, you've read_ _The Art of Potions_ _?' Slughorn's jovial voice says beaming through the corridor._

_A swirl of black cloak halts in front of him and Snape's dark eyes glare at him furiously. 'Keep your voice down, Horace, that book's reputation is worse than the Dark Lord's. It will not be considered appropriate reading material for a Hogwarts' Professor,' Snape hisses._

' _Ah, phooey!' Slughorn says, with a dismissive wave of his hand. 'A Professor needs to know what is out there, so he can stand above the material and inform the students properly.'_

' _Yes, informing your students properly is something you more than welcome to do, don't you?' Snape snarls menacingly._

' _Severus, my man, what are you possibly suggesting?' Slughorn says shocked._

' _You know very well what I am suggesting, Horace,' Snape whispers softly and he takes another threatening step towards Slughorn, towering over the short-stature, round-bellied, man. 'And just so you know, I'll be keeping an eye on you and my former Potion's students. And if I notice something off with them, for instance with the little Know-It-All from Gryffindor, then you can be certain I will speak to Dumbledore about it.'_

_Slughorn's prominent eyes almost seem to pop out of their sockets upon the threat. 'Now, now, no need to go to Albus about this,' he hastily says. 'I was just curious to find out what you thought of Abigail Culthrop's conclusions on the Murtlap Concoctions, but if you rather I didn't mention something from_ _ The Art of Potions _ _, then I won't.'_

' _I'm glad we understand each other,' Snape says, and his lip curls in triumph, before he stalks away. At the end of the corridor, he halts and looks back at Slughorn with an unreadable expression on his face. 'Culthrop was dead on in her observations there,' he replies shortly._

' _Ah! How can you say that?' Slughorn responds, appalled. 'Surely, you disagree with her assessment that the concoctions are in need of enhancements to overcome…'_

_And they both disappear around the corridor, making it impossible for me to hear more from behind the wall of the secret passageway I am standing._

'So this is the book, they were talking about. The book that has a worse reputation than the wizard I am currently living with. This must be some work of art, then,' I think snickering, while skipping through the leaves.

And I walk to the couch absentmindedly when I find the chapter on Murtlap Concoctions. Well, I've been curious about Culthrop's conclusions, ever since I heard Snape and Slughorn disagree on the matter. No harm in finding out which one of them was right. I sit down. Ouch, big mistake. And I quickly take a lying position. Yeah, that is much more comfortable. I am so glad Voldemort isn't here. At least, I don't also have to put up with that smug expression of his. I hope this not being able to sit normally will be over when he returns. And I glare into thin air annoyed, because I can just see the arrogant, obnoxious, irritating smirk on his face. I growl before starting to read the chapter vigorously.

When I am done, I check out the publication date and I raise my eyebrows upon seeing this book was first printed in 1975, more than thirty years ago. Why has no one ever done anything with this woman's conclusions? She is absolutely right. And I sigh when I realise Ron and Harry would be absolutely appalled that I end up agreeing with Professor Snape here. Slughorn was, _is_ , a fine teacher, but in my humble opinion, Snape was the true Potion's Master. He had a much better feel of the subject and this proves it once more. Slughorn is too rigid and his mind lacks the proper creativity required to excel in Potion's making. Snape, well, just look at everything he added to Libatius Borage's book as a teenager…

I rub my neck and yawn, when, suddenly, out of the blue, something seems totally off. Fear and distress is beginning to overwhelm me. What the…? And I grab the Amulet of Aine and look at it, but it seems to be fine. I check out the book, but I am positive it is not responsible for these disturbing feelings. I stagger to my feet and stare around in confusion. Nothing is out of the ordinary here. Yet, I sense fire, bricks, death and … _a badger?_

My eyes fall on the devil's book that Voldemort left lying on the table. That's odd. Has that rune always been there? I bend over, tilt my head and look at the death rune that, suddenly, is present in the circle on the cover. Strange, I am certain it wasn't there before. Curious, I check out the other runes. Maybe more of them have altered? And I start reading: death, future, afterlife, threats, enemies, vengeance, pairs, locked, pain, resurrection, portals…

I grab a hold of my head and clutch on to my hair. Sounds and visions are swirling by as I close my eyes.

' _Those patient Hufflepuffs are true and unafraid of toil … patient Hufflepuffs … patient Hufflepuffs…' sings the Sorting Hat over and over again. …_

… ' _He killed someone to get a stupid cup?' Ron asked Harry disbelievingly. 'Bloody hell, glad my family doesn't own a thing.'…_

… ' _What is your name?'… 'Vito Corleone.'…_

_Revenge is a dish best served cold … Revenge is a dish best served cold … Revenge is a dish best served cold… Revenge is a dish best served cold… Revenge is a dish best served cold…_

Intuitively, I spread my arms out widely and throw my head backwards.

BANG!

The windows break upon the power of the magic that soars out of my hands. Pieces of glass fly through the air and a whirl of darkness begins to surrounds me. Where it is suddenly coming from I have no idea. Green light starts to emanate brightly from the Amulet around my neck. But the darkness is too strong and slowly the light diminishes until there is nothing but darkness everywhere. Not even the sun is able to penetrate the force of it. And I don't know why and how or what, but I start chanting in some alien tongue. I don't even understand a word of what I am saying, but for some reason, I feel that it is quite urgent and necessary to chant this. The walls roar and bellow and I feel the building tremble underneath me. A bright flash… an Apparation _'crack'_ … and I scream fearfully when I get tossed through the air violently and I crash into the books and shelves on the wall behind me, before plummeting to the ground in a rather ungraceful posture.

I blink several times with my eyelids and push my upper body from the ground to scramble back to my feet. It's dark all around me. In a daze, I hold out my hand and wave through it. It's like trying to catch smoke with your hands. It's there, yet, it isn't. Most unusual. A dark breeze begins to swirl around me and my clothes and hair wave towards the direction of the table, towards the book on the table. I feel a strange pull, and a need to go to it, when two arms fling around my waist and stop me from moving by holding me tightly. I struggle to get free, but I am unsuccessful and I scream in fury as the dark mist turns into a large vortex, creating a huge twister of blackness from within the circle of runes.

'Trust me, Hermione,' Voldemort whispers in my ear.

But I still struggle fervently to get him to loosen his grip. 'Let me go!'

'No, dear. Someone else can take your place. I am not sacrificing you.'

I cry out in despair, because I want to go there. Calmly, Voldemort conjures a strange shield around us and I feel my knees buckle when the vortex passes us by, leaving us undisturbed.

'No, no, no,' I mutter, and I sink to the floor in his arms.

He is still not letting go, having lowered himself along with me when I couldn't remain standing anymore. 'I need to go… I need to…'

'No, you don't. Trust me, Hermione, you don't want to go … In a minute, you'll feel better. It will find another dark soul to swallow, and then, your agony will be over.'

But I don't believe a word he says. He is a terrific liar. Everyone knows that. And I shake my head in disagreement and bury my head in my hands, crying. He is cradling me in his lap and kisses me on my head softly, but it doesn't take away the dreadful sadness and loss that I am feeling. I need to go to that book, now. I need to.

A loud scream flares in the distance and the darkness gets sucked into the volume on the table with a final twirl of air. And all is quiet and calm again. I, suddenly, feel fine. The despair I felt has evaporated with the disappearing vortex and I look up into Voldemort's face questioningly. I am very confused. What … the … bloody … hell … just … happened? I notice Voldemort's eyes, which flicker continuously between red and dark. It's quite disturbing to watch actually. I wish he just pick a colour and stick with it.

"What is going on?!' I shout frustrated, and my eyes widen upon noticing Voldemort's robes are torn and covered in dust, and he has a large scratch on his chest. 'What happened to you? What happened to me? Where did you come from? I was just reading a stupid potion book! And all of the sudden the world seemed to end! Mmmph…'

He tries to silence me with a kiss, but I am not falling for that trick. I want some bloody answers! Furiously, I push him away, but he doesn't seem to be upset about it.

'My wonderful, little Hermione … I knew you could do it,' he says triumphant.

And he takes a hold of my head to kiss me again, so I ram him in the stomach. 'I asked you something! Are so thick to think I am interested in kissing you after what just happened, whatever it was?' I say, completely ticked off.

'Oh, I think you are… After all, this is the second time that you've saved me from death within the last twenty-four hours. So you must really like me,' he snickers deviously.

I narrow my eyes and glare at him angrily. What is he blabbering about?

'But you're quite right,' he states abruptly and pulls me to my feet. 'Business comes before pleasure and we do have to take care of the root of our problems. Can't have those nasty badgers walk away from this unpunished after all.'

'Badgers?' I think stupefied.

He flicks out his wand and summons one of his followers, after which he starts undoing the damage to the room and his clothes.

'Am I ever going to get an answer here?!' I yell frustrated.

Voldemort swirls around and gives me a calculative grin. Slowly, he advances upon me, twirling his wand between his fingers, and I feel my chest constricting in fear when I notice that pretend casual expression. Now what? He halts right before me, so I have to look up to meet his eyes. They are still flickering and it is making me nauseous.

'What's with your eyes?'

'What's with all the questions?'

'I am just asking them,' I say shrugging.

'So I notice. What makes you think I'll be inclined to answer any of them to you?'

'You owe me a life debt.'

'Which you personally squandered by releasing me of my obligation,' he responds offhandedly.

'You said twice… I only remember letting you of the hook once,' I rebut firmly.

'Catching on fast, aren't we?' he says amused, and his fingers are trailing the periphery of my arm. 'How manipulative of you.'

'I learn from the best,' I say teasingly, and I step out of reach of his touch.

He smirks. 'I suppose you're right about that, but unfortunately for you, I have already repaid you for the second time you saved me by stopping you from entering that vortex, so you have nothing to wager with.'

'What was that vortex?'

'Again with the questions?'

I growl, but a knock on the door interrupts us.

'Enter,' says Voldemort without looking towards the door once.

Alecto Carrow walks in bowing. 'My Lord?'

'Go find Lucius and tell him to bring me that Dora Figg woman immediately,' Voldemort tells her without so much as acknowledging her presence.

'Yes, Master,' Alecto whispers and she is about to leave, when Voldemort halts her with another order.

'And have Lucius inform the Ministry that the capture of the Smiths has become their number one priority. I want them taken into custody within the next twenty-four hours or I am going to be very unhappy.'

Alecto swallows and mutters something about that it will be done, before leaving.

Voldemort stares at the door that is closing behind the Death Eater's back contemptuously. Man, I already knew that he really considers his followers with the lowest kind of esteem possible, but I've never seen him look this disdainful at any one of their backs before. I suppose the Carrows are not his favourites. Well, I guess he should have thought of that, before he killed the Lestranges. And I fold my arms over each other determinately, because I will bloody well get an answer to what has been happening here. I am tapping impatiently with my foot on the ground, when Voldemort snaps out of his daydream and takes another look at me, smirking. He mocks my determination by mimicking my posture and also folding his arms over each other condescendingly. And he is tapping with his wand on his arm ever so annoyingly.

'Don't you have some reading to do, before that Elfin junk is leaving?' he says taunting and he tosses me The Art of Potions with a flick of his wand.

I stare at the book in my hand in clear irritation and a loud laugh scatters through the room. 'I tell you what, dear,' he says, cupping my chin. 'If you solve the mystery of my changing eye colour … I'll fill you in on the rest of what happened here today.'

'But … but,' I stutter, confused, 'don't you know why that is occurring?'

And I frown at this, but he is looking at me with one of his unreadable, blank expressions, so I am not getting an answer to that either. 'My entire library is at your disposal,' he adds cheerful and walks toward the exit.

'If you don't know why it is happening to you, the answer most likely will not be in any of these volumes,' I state thoughtful.

'I never claimed I didn't know why it is happening, Hermione. However, if you need a book from the Hogwarts library, feel free to inform me and I'll lend it for you.'

Quickly, I think of the options here. And if it isn't him that is causing the changes then… 'I need all books concerning Everon and anything else Elf related,' I blurt out immediately.

A small twitch in his face is all that is being revealed of his discomfort at this rather bold demand of mine. And it remains silent as he obviously is weighing whether to grant my request or not.

'Very well,' he says finally, 'I'll have them brought to you.'


	21. Chapter 21

  
**Warning:** animal cruelty up ahead. "Disclaimer:" no real life rabbits have been harmed for the making of this chapter. XD

  


  
**The Bittersweet Taste of Victory**

  


  
_So when you look at me_  
  
_you better look hard and look twice  
  
Is that me baby or just a brilliant disguise_

  


  
_Tonight our bed is cold_  
  
_I'm lost in the darkness of our love_  
  
_God have mercy on the man_  
  
_Who doubts what he's sure of_

  


  
Bruce Springsteen, Brilliant disguise

  


  
**Chapter twenty-one**

  


  
Lord Voldemort picks up the Devil's Book and places it in his lap, before he glances sideways to the couch. A large bush of brown frizzy hair hangs over the armrest, because its owner is lying there on her back in a seeming lazily posture. Her legs are bend in order for the book, she is reading vigorously, to lean against them. She reads fast. The pace, in which the pages are turned, is somewhat startling even to him. But then again, it isn't high literature she is trying to take in at the moment. It's a historical report on Everon.

  


  
All things considering, it is probably for the best, if she is to stay clear from some of the Dark Arts Volumes for a while. The incident with the Devil's Book is still fresh in his mind and he is not at all happy with the appearance of that stupid vortex. It's a clear indication that the book considered Hermione a serious threat and was planning to get rid of her. He still isn't certain what to think of it, let alone what to tell her. It is the only reason he had been taunting her about her questions and avoided answering them. He had been stalling for time, so he would get the opportunity to think of something to tell her that suits his plans for her and is not contradictory to everything that happened. He can't possibly allow her to find out that the Devil's Book recognised her darkness, stimulated her to use it at its full extend, and then decided she could not be swayed and needed to be eliminated…

  


  
Lord Voldemort knows it is the only explanation to what happened, but telling her _that_ , will undoubtedly relieve her of some of her fears of falling and that may strengthen her resolve to keep resisting him. And he just can't have that. He just can't. It will become too contra productive, if she knows this.

  


  
His eyes dart between the book on his desk and the witch on his couch; his witch. The book is wrong. She can be swayed. If it hadn't been for that Amulet he would have already succeeded in pulling her in that night when she cracked and lost it. He will sway her. Maybe she isn't ready yet, but she will be in time. That's all he needs, time. Still, it is incredibly unusual for someone to be able to use the powers of the Devil's Book and then resist the darkness that comes with those powers. And it wasn't the Amulet that protected her. He saw the stone. It was lightless and powerless when he held her in his arms. He had to prevent her from going to the vortex himself, since that piece of Elfin junk did nothing for her there. The Amulet had been unable to block the sheer force of the Dark Arts that flew through the room and it was rendered completely useless to Hermione. So she resisted the lure of the Dark Arts all on her own. This is rather troublesome, but still… he isn't going to lose her. She is his, period.

  


  
Hermione yawns, laces her fingers into each other and stretches her arms out above her head. Her curvy, slender figure becomes accentuated by her movement and he watches her intensely. She looks beautiful in that simple outfit she is wearing; a burgundy blouse and black pants. Her hands rub through her hair briefly, and he sees her stare at the ceiling, before flipping another page and continuing to read. Yes, he is definitely not letting this one slip through his fingers. She is bright, fiery, powerful, stunning, and _his._ He just knows she belongs with him. He just knows it.

  


  
His fingers are tapping on the book and he opens it. A sideway glance to Hermione is all it takes to convince him that she is too engaged in her own reading to notice what he is doing. A small wave of his hand and he nonverbally demands the book to show him precisely what happened. And he sees it all, even the things Hermione missed due to her entranced state. Astonished, he closes the Devil's book and stares at the girl. She is even more powerful than he already thought.

  


  
What to tell her? He already knew she pulled him out of that imploding house just in a nick of time. He had purposely dropped his hold on her magic and flung what he had taken, along with the majority of his own, back to her, the moment he realised the magic, which attacked him, could not be contained by him. It had been a long shot, but it certainly paid off. One second later and he would have been pulverised. She had intuitively saved him through their connection.

  


  
Sure, he had to credit some part of that safe to the Devil's Book. He saw how she became distressed and anxious the moment her magic along with a large bulk of his entered her body and how she got to her feet confused. The book felt the darkness next to it and activated, showing Hermione the right attributes to deal with the situation as it deemed fit. But still, her intuitive magic noticed something was off. Her magic created the portal and hermagic Apparated him out of there. She used the Force of Nature in a manner that highly trained individuals would have had a problem with in achieving.

  


  
And then, the book wanted her to finish him off, so she could take full possession of her dark powers and become the powerful dark witch the book wanted her to be. But she had resisted and had not allowed darkness to overcome her. When the book realised it was failing in turning someone that powerful, it decided to finish her off instead and created the pull of the vortex, determined to drag her soul into the void of the other realm, into nothingness and despair. If successful, she wouldn't have been more than an empty shell right now; a breathing, living no one. Similar to someone, who had been kissed by a dementor.

  


  
A breath of relieve escapes his mouth. The book would have succeeded if he hadn't been there to stop it from happening. Thanks to her dazed state of mind, he was able to reclaim his magic from her immediately, and he conjured a shield of invisibility around them, disabling the vortex ability to recognise Hermione's darkness. It had searched and searched for a dark soul, until it found one and it had swallowed it whole, thinking it was her. Briefly, he wonders whose it could have taken, but frankly, he really doesn't care that much as long as it wasn't hers.

  


  
He looks back at the Devil's Book. The runes have turned undecipherable again, indicating the dormant state the book is in. But he needs to get this away from her. He can't risk it activating again and destroying Hermione. He just can't allow that to happen. He just can't. In a blink of an eye, he whirls out of his chair. Flipping out his wand, he summons four other Dark Arts Books from his shelves that he now also deems too risky. And then, using a part of her magic as well, he Apparates away with the five books to dump them in one of the extra security vaults at Gringotts.

  


  
It takes him some time to achieve it, due to the apprehension of the Goblins upon recognising the books in question. They don't seem particularly thrilled to have to secure items such as these, but he isn't concerned about the wellbeing and state of mind of Goblins. So he forces the issue by appealing to their vanity. Goblins are so easy to piss off. Just a simple remark that they can't contain a powerful wizard's item and bingo! One vault is made available. He sets a few extra barriers of his own around it, remembering the disaster with the Lestrange's vault very clearly. When he is certain that the book will no longer pose a threat to Hermione, he Apparates back to his quarters at Hogwarts.

  


  
'Crack.'

  


  
A loud snoring noise is the first thing that greets him upon his arrival back in the study. Lord Voldemort looks sideway to the couch in amusement, because there sleeps, in a very unladylike manner, Hermione Jean Granger. He has to stifle a laugh, since he doesn't want to wake her, but she is quite a sight at the moment. One of her legs is dangling over the rear back of the couch, while an arm is hanging over the edge of the seating on the other side. The book she was reading has tumbled to the ground and her blouse is wrinkled and has rotated around her in a manner that makes the skin on the lower half of her torso quite visible. Her head is tilted backwards over the armrest and her mouth stands wide ajar, making her drool all over her cheek. He should take pictures … and blackmail her with it. That'll make her join him. Finally, the ultimate solution to all his problems. Another noisy snore, and he chuckles, enjoying himself quite a lot.

  


  
When he is through being entertained with Hermione's weird posture and the delightful opportunities it hands him, he strolls towards her. She is going to be incredibly sore, if she wakes after lying in that position for a long time. And it is rather cold in here. Come to think of it, she does look extremely pale. Carefully, he checks the temperature of her skin. She is freezing.

  


  
'But I've written much more, Professor McGonagall,' Hermione mutters, when he touches her.

  


  
'I am sure you did, dear,' Voldemort replies amused and he pulls out his wand, and levitates her to his bedroom, so he won't wake her.

  


  
'Fifty inches of parchment, all gone,' Hermione mumbles as he lowers her in the bed and transfigures her outfit into something more appropriate. In rapid succession a Cleansing and Warming Charm follow, after which he tucks her in with a couple of extra blankets. There, much better…

  


  
She stirs underneath his hands. 'Fifty.'

  


  
He smiles and strokes her hair softly. 'Sleep tight, Hermione,' he whispers and kisses her on her forehead.

  


  
'Mum?'

  


  
He freezes and watches her concerned as she begins to toss and turn in the bed. 'Mum? Where are you?' Hermione mumbles distressed.

  


  
Shall he wake her? No, it just a dream and she needs the rest.

  


  
'Daddy?'

  


  
His mouth twitches and something stings in his chest. He takes a step forward, wishing to take her in his arms and comfort her. It's his fault, she can't see her parents. He practically turned her into an orphan. It's entirely his fault that she is hurting and it pains him severely. Remorseful, he touches her face.

  


  
'It's alright, Hermione, you're safe. Everything is going to be fine,' he whispers.

  


  
In her sleep, she leans into his touch. 'Harry?' Hermione asks mumbling.

  


  
Like he has been stung by a bee, he withdraws his hand.

  


  
'Don't go, Harry, we're in this together.'

  


  
Harry Potter! How dare she bring up that … that blasted nail on his coffin again? After everything he has done for her! After everything he offered her! And she has the nerve to mention Potter! He'll show her. Making him feel … all these kinds of despicable, disgustingly weak emotions, and then, just trample all over them. A flick of his wrist and his wand appears in there. A vile smile graces his marble-white skin as he aims at the sleeping witch. He truly and utterly hates her, and he will show her who she thought she was messing with.

  


  
'Cru…AAAHHH!'

  


  
The screams leave his lips as it feels like he is being hit with a sharp blade directly in his heart. And a second later, he topples over and crashes to the floor unconscious, for the third time.

  


  
…

  


  
_Excited, a five year old, pitch-black haired, pale boy sneaks through the corridors of the orphanage in the middle of the night. He will get back at him tonight, stupid Billy Stubbs. How dare he call him all those foul names? Calling him a thief! So what if he took something from Billy's drawer, he wanted it. And he always gets what he wants. Only not this time, and the expression on his face darkens considerably. Mrs Cole made him give the pencil back to Billy. But Tom knows just what to do. Stubby just loves his rabbit. He even pets it before going to sleep every night. Yuck! Stupid animals. Whenever he gets the chance, he pinches them, hard._

  


  
_Voices are fluttering from the back room and he hears Mrs Cole's somewhat slurred speech. He halts for a moment, but she hasn't heard him and he squeezes himself through the narrow opening between the locked door and the slightly bend and croaked wooden beam. He always fits through it, even though it seems impossible for any human being to be able to pass through there. But they just don't want to do it enough. That is the reason why he fits through it and others don't. They lack determination. Stealthy, he runs towards the garden shed, but no one ever sees him, because it is not what he wants._

  


  
_Quickly, he walks past the animal cages, until he stands in front of one fluffy white bunny. His face wrinkles in disgust as the rabbit pushes its nose into the bars of the cage, hoping for a carrot. And he slams his hand against the bars, hitting the rabbit's nose roughly. That'll teach the thing, he is not some walking food machine. Tom's head swivels left and right to make certain he is alone and he opens the cage trembling with excitement. Almost feverish with exhilaration, he watches how the stupid rabbit just sits there, waiting to be petted, no doubt. He stretches out his hand and his eyes flash overjoyed with anticipation._

  


  
_With a harsh pull he lifts the rabbit by its ears and it starts twisting and writhing. His cheeks flush and his eyes widen in pleasure at the sight of the distressed rabbit. He dangles the poor animal around by its ears and its limbs trash and flounder. He wishes it would scream. That would be nice to hear. And when he breaks a leg, he gets his wish. The utmost blood curling, gruesome, high-pitched scream torments his eardrums. And it is incredibly loud! Others will hear this! Panicking, he closes his fingers around the stupid bunny's mouth, but the damn thing bites him. So he hits it on the head in fury. And it still shrieks dreadfully loud._

  


  
_'Silence, silence,' he thinks alarmed and annoyed with the dreadful ear piercing sound._

  


  
_His handkerchief! Quickly, he binds it around the beast mouth and hides in the corner of the shed. A door slams open in the distance and he hears someone scuffle around. A metal dustbin crashes to the ground and the screech of a cat flares through the air._

  


  
_'Stupid, horny cats,' slurs Mrs Cole, and finally, she walks back indoors._

  


  
_Furious, he looks at the rabbit in his hands. It almost got him caught and bit him! So he pulls his pocket knife and he cuts of an ear. In a trancelike state he watches the blood drip over the white fur. Such a lovely sight. And since it can't scream anymore, he breaks the other leg as well. And another and the last one too. It's just a stupid rabbit after all and it deserves this for biting him. He presses the animal to the ground on its back and it is still writhing underneath his hand. He presses a bit harder and feels the ribcage begin to crack between his fingers._

  


  
_Little Tom savours the power he feels … to have a life in your hands and have the ability to take it away. He wants to see it. He needs to see it. His left hand folds around the neck of the rabbit and he starts squeezing slowly, while his right hand holds the stupid beast in place. And it's delicious. The way the light leaves its eyes. How the movements still under his hand, under his command, by his doing. How the final breath leaves the thing's mouth. And then, it is over. Panting heavily and smiling broadly, Tom looks down at the lifeless rabbit on the floor. He has never felt happier before._

  


  
_He stands up and stretches out his arms above his head, closing his eyes, feeling his power. He can do anything. He just knows he can. Condescendingly, he watches the silly, broken beast on the ground. Useless creature. The world is better off without them. He bends over and picks it up. He has to be sure that he is here in the morning when Billy finds his rabbit. A vile smile makes a way across the tiny boy's features. Too bad he can't squash Billy like this. But who knows… maybe someday…_

  


  
_His eyes fall upon the rafters and a short laugh escapes his lips. That will be a nice place to hang the rabbit on! Billy will be desperately searching the shed for the so called escaped rabbit for hours, only for it to be hanging from the roof. But how is he going to get it up there? A flash, and the rabbit disappears from his hand. For a moment he stares at his empty hand disappointed, but slowly, he tilts his head upward and a muffled shout of triumph falls from his lips as he sees the rabbit hang there. Just as he wanted! Things always happen the way he wants them too! Always! He is so going to enjoy Billy's reaction in the morning._

  


  
_xxx_

  


  
_'Why are you sitting here alone?'_

  


  
_Shocked by the sudden disturbance, ten year old Tom jumps up from the garden bench and holds the little snake behind his back. He stares coldly at the brown haired girl, who stands a few feet away with a large orange cat in her hands. She is wearing the same greyish uniform as he is and she must be around his age, but he is certain he has never seen her before._

  


  
_'What have you got there?' the girl asks curious._

  


  
_Clearly, no one has spoken to the girl about him yet, otherwise she wouldn't be so foolish to engage in a conversation with him._

  


  
_'Why is that any of your business?' he snarls._

  


  
_She raises her eyebrows. 'Not I suppose,' she replies shrugging and she goes to sit on his bench of all places._

  


  
_'Who are you?' Tom demands to know, narrowing his dark eyes at her._

  


  
_'I am Sally Woodburn,' she says, holding out her hand, 'and you are?'_

  


  
_'Tom Riddle,' he says smirking and instead of shaking her hand, he plants the snake in it. Well, she was inquiring what he had there. No harm in informing her, maybe then she'll leave, so he can have his bench back to himself. Unfortunately, she does not exhibit the fearful, screaming response he had been counting on._

  


  
_'Nice garden snake,' Sally says, holding out the snake away from the now yowling cat. 'You better take her. Blossom loves to hunt for snakes. One time she got into my brother's room and we had a huge row, because she wounded all his pet snakes.'_

  


  
_'Is your brother here too?'_

  


  
_'Oh no, he is all grown up and all. Doesn't need to be here.'_

  


  
_'Why aren't you living with him then?'_

  


  
_The girl bites her lip and starts petting her cat fervently. He notices her eyes are beginning to water and he turns away in disgust. Another cry baby, great … just what this orphanage needs. But the expected sobs do not reach his ears and when he turns back towards Sally, he sees her wipe her face with her sleeve and stare at the cat in silence._

  


  
_'This is my bench,' he says irritated with this strange girl that does not react like she is supposed too._

  


  
_'Oh really?' she says surprised, 'did you mark it?'_

  


  
_And he is pretty certain she is now mocking him by pretending to search for just that on the bench. Nobody mocks Tom Riddle, nobody. And he gazes down into the eyes of the cat. He always gets animals to do exactly what he wants, always. And he orders the cat to attack its owner, but the blasted beast begins to hiss at him; at him! And then, a paw with sharp, extended nails flies through the air and it manages to scratch his arm open, even though he jumps back almost immediately. Pushing his hand on the bleeding wound, he sees Sally struggle with her crazy cat._

  


  
_'Blossom!' Sally shouts and she grabs a tight hold of the angry cat. 'Don't. Blossom! What is the matter with you?'_

  


  
_The girl gets up from his bench, finally, and holds the furious cat away from him. 'Hmm… sorry, don't know what has got into her. It must be the move. Normally, she likes everybody. I hope we can still be friends though.'_

  


  
_'I have no need for friends.'_

  


  
_The annoying girl shrugs. 'You never know until you try,' she says cheerful and skips away._

  


  
_xxx_

  


  
_'So do you have any girlfriends at your school?' Sally asks bluntly as she hops beside him on the bench._

  


  
_'Why is that any of your business, Woodburn?' Tom, age fifteen, replies evenly, while pulling the totally expected prefect badge out of the envelope. In a couple of weeks his fifth year at Hogwarts will start and he is really looking forward to leaving this blasted orphanage behind._

  


  
_'Oh come on, nothing that is even remotely exciting ever happens in this place, except for the occasional bombs that fall from the sky; so … spill it out, Riddle. Tell me your darkest secrets.'_

  


  
_'I already told you this once. I have no use for friends,' he says disgusted at the notion. 'Girls or otherwise.'_

  


  
_'Don't tell me that cute face of yours with your raven black hair and dark, mysterious eyes doesn't attract any girls on that school of yours?' Sally says teasingly, and she dramatically takes a hold of her head with one hand, leans back ... 'Oh my, Mr Riddle, you take my breath away.' And she mock faints in his lap._

  


  
_Dumbfounded, Tom stares down at her, when she peeks through one eye and starts to roar with laughter. She even tumbles down to the ground bathing in her mirth._

  


  
_'You should look in the mirror now,' she snorts, 'priceless.'_

  


  
_'I should look in the mirror?' he responds and his pupils dart to her hair teasingly. 'Perhaps you can spend some time in front of one, so you can …'_

  


  
_'Eh,' Sally interrupts indignant, 'no making fun of my hair, Mister. It is fine as it is.'_

  


  
_'Whatever you say,' Tom mockingly says, looking back at the letter._

  


  
_xxx_

  


  
_'Tom. Tom!'_

  


  
_Tom starts to walk a bit faster by lengthening his steps considerably. He is a lot taller than most of his classmates, so she will have a hard time catching up with him. Why does he always have to run into idiots like her when he is patrolling the corridors? Can't the blasted Mudblood take a hint? He only did his duty as a prefect by taking points from Hornby's House. It's not like he likes her. On the contrary, he would have been cheering Hornby on, if she wasn't such a huge dolt herself and bullied Myrtle in front of Merrythought's chambers. He had 'explained' to Olive later that he wasn't amused to have to take points from his own House._

  


  
_'Tom!' Myrtle shouts more forceful._

  


  
_He halts annoyed, but when he swirls around to greet Myrtle his handsome face is set in his usual blank expression._

  


  
_'Myrtle,' he says suavely. 'I was pretending not to notice you, so I wouldn't be forced to take points from Ravenclaw. However, now that I have noticed…' and he halts there and tilts his head for the proper dramatic effect, only Four Eyes starts chatting immediately._

  


  
_'I have received a pass from Professor Slughorn,' she says happily and she practically waves it in his face._

  


  
_Great, he really needs to talk to Slughorn about this handing out of passes to basically everyone, because this must never happen again. He checks the corridor up and down quickly. Nobody is there, perfect. And in an instant his demeanour changes._

  


  
_'I am not blind like you, Mudblood,' he hisses viciously, and her eyes widen fearfully when he presses his wand in her throat. 'If you ever follow me around or bother me again, you won't live long enough to regret it.'_

  


  
_A loud wail greets his ears and he laughs in her face when she reacts totally predictable. She starts crying as usual and runs off as he wanted her to. But when he sees Myrtle run into the girl's bathroom, he can't help but smirk. Yes, that is a good, safe place to go and moan, Myrtle. Soon … soon, he will rid this school of her and every other piece of Mudblood filth like her._

  


  
_xxx_

  


  
_'Tom! You're back!' Sally shouts cheerful and jumps in his arms. 'Oh, not fair, you've gotten even taller.'_

  


  
_Tom gives her one of his famous charming smiles and stares into her brown eyes. Sally is the only one that makes returning to this orphanage even slightly bearable, but he will never admit that to anyone, not even to himself. He stares at the building in disgust._

  


  
_"What happened to your eyes?'_

  


  
_'Sorry?'_

  


  
_'They were red for a moment.'_

  


  
_'Oh magic,' Tom explains shrugging._

  


  
_Sally looks at him thoughtful, and then, looks back at the building. She punches him in the arm._

  


  
_'What are you complaining about, Mr I-Am-Only-Here-During-The-Summer?' she asks teasingly and turns to walk up the flight of steps to the front door. 'Other people,' she says with much emphasis and a joyous twinkle in her eyes, 'have to be here the entire year and listen to Mrs Cole rant day in, day out. Sally, clean the floor. Sally, set the kitchen table. Sally, do the laundry. Sally, those dishes are not clean!'_

  


  
_'Sally!' yells Mrs Cole from within the orphanage._

  


  
_Triumphant, Sally twirls around. 'I rest my case,' she says with a theatrical bow. 'Coming!'_

  


  
_Quietly, Tom watches her dart indoors and he points his wand at his heavy trunk. 'Locomotor trunk!'_

  


  
_The next couple of days in the orphanage he enjoys himself tremendously by performing magic twenty-four/seven, mainly in front of Sally, and other less harmless spells in front of others. And no Aurors, no letters from Hogwarts or the Ministry arrive. Not even after he performed the Cruciatus Curse! It worked. The charm, he performed, worked … and he is no longer bound by the Trace. He can go and Apparate to Little Hangleton tomorrow, when Mrs Cole's prying nose is absent. Though, he supposes there is nothing a nice 'Obliviate' can't fix._

  


  
_'Scourcify,' he casts at the dishes and Sally watches him with envy._

  


  
_'I am going to miss you when your school starts again,' she says, while he commands the now clean kitchen utensils into their respective cupboards and drawers with a flick of his wrist._

  


  
_He snorts. 'You make a bloke feel really appreciated, Woodburn,' he replies evenly._

  


  
_'Oh, you definitely are my best friend, if you can get rid of that enormous pile of laundry too,' Sally says, nudging him in the side teasingly._

  


  
_He sighs exaggeratingly. 'See, like I said,' he exclaims, 'friends are just people who take advantage of you. Hence, my lacking need for them.'_

  


  
…

  


  
Lord Voldemort wakes tired, feeling utterly distressed and bathing in sweat. His memories are still whirling through his mind and he feels all kinds of despicable and disgusting emotions with them. None of them he felt when he experienced those memories in reality. It unnerves him greatly. He doesn't know what to do with these feelings, and fear would have washed over him where it not for the two arms that are lying around his torso, along with the warm body that is snuggled against him. Her presence calms him down considerably. He is in his bed and Hermione is holding him. Somehow that makes him feel much more at ease and he begins to breathe normally again. Carefully, he lifts one of her arms and turns to face her. She is sleeping peacefully and he smiles and strokes her hair.

  


  
Still, he can't believe he passed out again. He can just hit himself in the head for it. He knows how to avoid the Amulet's powers and he submitted to those powers by letting himself get carried away by his feelings towards Hermione, once more. This must never happen again! He is Lord Voldemort! He can control his feelings and emotions. If he does not want to feel an emotion, then he does not feel it. He can control his hate and he has no room for remorse or regret. And he certainly has no need to fear his memories. He did everything right and if he had to do it all over again, he would do it exactly the same way.

  


  
He jumps out of bed. Pacing up and down his bedroom, he considers his situation. This is getting ridiculous. Sure, he needs to heal his soul to be able to make nice, wonderful, multiple Horcruxes, because he can't stand the thought of dying. But maybe his soul is already healed enough to make one, because if this Amulet keeps on messing with his mind then… NO! He will not be beaten by the trinket of an elf! He is Lord Voldemort, the greatest wizard of all time. He needs the security of multiple Horcruxes, especially considering what happened the first time around. So he will resist these silly emotions and feeble attempts to make him feel. Once he is immortal again, he can crush the Amulet and the emotions with it into oblivion. He will crush the Elves into oblivion. The prospect delights him severely and he calms down. Because he knows that once he is immortal again, he will be invincible and...

  


  
That thought rings a bell somewhere, and suddenly, Hermione's response to it flares back to memory.

  


  
_'You're already bored out of your mind in this mortal life you now lead. What will you do with all that extra time? When every question, every mystery is answered? When there are no more challenges left to face?'_

  


  
He must admit that scares him considerably, but he remembers his response to the letter. The biggest challenge in life is to conquer death. That's what he told her and he meant it; he still does. But she had immediately crushed his rebuttal.

  


  
_'And what after you've dealt with this silly challenge? After you've conquered the one thing that can alleviate your life when there isn't anything interesting in it anymore? Because without any challenges left one is better of dead.'_

  


  
And he lied and told her that he would never be bored, but she hadn't bought his lies and had punctured right through them.

  


  
_'Really? So these pathetic games you try to play with me are not a clear sign of boredom already?'_

  


  
He has to admit he was bored out of his mind before she came along and he can't stand the thought of losing… Perplexed, he halts at the spot. No, no, no. He needs this to end now. He needs to remember who he is. He flips out his wand and points it at Hermione, no Granger. His eyes widen. When did he start referring to her by her first name in his mind? Aarrgghhh! He feels like pulling the non-existing hairs out of his head. He needs to get rid of this Amulet. How much longer until his bloody soul is whole again? He looks at the emerald stone that is still glowing lightly. It is a clear indication his soul is not whole again, because he knows that it won't stop glowing, until his soul is healed or until he crushes the damn jewel to pieces.

  


  
However, there is no timetable set by the stone and he has absolutely no idea how much longer it is going to take. Elves and their stupid timeless concepts. It's most inconvenient that there isn't a simple timer on it or any other indication that will give him insight into the amount of time left before it is finished. Because he needs to remember who he bloody well is. He looks at his wand that is still pointed towards Herm… Granger. He quickly corrects himself.

  


  
Hmmm… it may be too risky to torture her, if he loses himself again that Amulet will hit him once more. And he is struck by a brilliant idea. He isn't a genius for nothing. He will go to the Ministry and terrify some people there. Acting like himself, like Lord Voldemort, will help sustain him, the greatest sorcerer of all. He will be able to be himself undisturbed as long as Her… Granger isn't around.

  


  
Excited, he whirls into the bathroom to get ready. When he is done, he stands in front of the mirror. His eye colour is changing continuously. He has to do something about that before he goes. People get to utmost ridiculous ideas when they see things they do not understand. They may start to speculate he is ill or see it as a sign of weakness, and before you know it, they will try to rebel against him. He can't have that. He really isn't in the mood to waste his time by engaging in combat with idiots. A simple Glamour Charm makes his gaze turn thoroughly red and satisfied with it, he leaves Hogwarts to be Lord Voldemort. And he is going to do a terrific job of being just that.

  


  
'Master,' Lucius says, bowing down to him upon his arrival at the Ministry.

  


  
Irritated, Lord Voldemort looks at the lone figure on the ground. Why is that bleeding pureblood alone? Had he not clearly stipulated to Carrow that he wanted Lucius to bring him that Dora Figg woman? So where is she?

  


  
'Lucius, care to inform me on your, no doubt, tremendous progress?' he says quietly.

  


  
'We have pulled three bodies from the rubble at the Smith's Mansion.'

  


  
But Lucius halts there in fear, because he waves impatiently with his hand. He really isn't interested in hearing about the deaths of useless, expendable people. 'The Smiths?' he asks shortly.

  


  
'The Aurors have apprehended Achilles Smith and he is currently being questioned by them, my Lord,' Lucius says relieved, because he is able to bring his Lord some good news.

  


  
'Why was I not informed? And why is Smith still here at the Ministry? I ordered Alecto to have them all brought before me.'

  


  
'Er… Alecto has not relayed that aspect of your orders to me, Master.'

  


  
'And I suppose she also forgot to mention to you that I wanted Dora Figg to be delivered to me,' Voldemort hisses.

  


  
'No, but her flat was completely emptied out, so I ordered the Auror and Unspeakable Office to arrest the wo…' Lucius halts when he sees Voldemort hold up his hand.

  


  
'Anything you can tell me about this woman yet?'

  


  
'I've researched the background of the Dora Figg woman, and all the paperwork seems in order, but there is definitely something off with her, my Lord.'

  


  
'Really?' Voldemort says sarcastically.

  


  
An entire house was dumped upon him. Right after she left in haste. Surely, there is something off with the woman. Perhaps he shall take it out on Lucius. That won't bother Herm… Anger overtakes him. He is Lord Voldemort. He does not need her approval. But perhaps he shall Crucio Alecto instead. Yessss, for her tardiness and lack of immediate and thorough following up on his orders. He can do it while she is teaching. It's always enjoyable to have an audience witness his handiwork. Hmmm… such a delightful prospect and he smiles broadly.

  


  
Lucius looks up slightly alarmed, but still continues his explanation. 'I checked the Ministerial Archives and despite all the proper paperwork, we can't find any written evidence of this woman existence before May 1998.'

  


  
'May 1998?' Voldemort repeats slowly.

  


  
'Yes,' Lucius says, more confident now. 'So I went to check out the Figg family completely. According to the records Dora Figg is a daughter of Ignabel and Homerus Figg, but both of them died two years ago, so I can't question them. However, Homerus was a brother to Arabella Figg, the Squib that Dumbledore pulled on Potter's trial. So …'

  


  
'A little Order Member went astray,' Voldemort finishes furious. 'How come someone was able to escape the battle at Hogwarts unnoticed by us? I thought the corpses were checked and all were accounted for?'

  


  
Lucius remains silent and it annoys him sincerely, because he knows perfectly well that he left the Lestranges in charge of that task, so he can't really blame Malfoy, but since he is here and they aren't... 'Crucio!' he whispers.

  


  
He needs to relieve some of that tension he's been feeling, and it is kind of enjoyable to be able to curse someone without having to worry about having a sudden onset of despicable emotions running through you. After he feels much more relaxed, he lowers the curse from Malfoy. The man is panting and shaking on the floor. Delicious. Yes, cursing someone always lifts his spirits.

  


  
'Let's find out who this Order Member is, shall we Lucius?' he says calmly. 'Take me to Achilles Smith.'

  


  
Quickly, the blond takes him to the interrogation room the Aurors are holding Smith in at the moment. He takes a hold of the doorknob and bids Lucius goodbye. 'That'll be all, Lucius,' he orders calmly, 'go find that Figg woman for me.'

  


  
And he swirls indoors. The reaction upon his arrival is priceless. Achilles Smith, who was arrogantly balancing his chair on its two back legs, shrieks and tumbles over backwards. Two legs twist in the air, before the man gets up, pulls up his chair and sits back down again, staring at Voldemort in clear disbelief and with obvious fear on his now utterly white face. Lord Voldemort gazes down at the shocked man intensely. Apparently, none of the Aurors felt the need to inform Smith that his little assassination had failed. Good, he is mighty pleased with them about that. So he supposes he can overlook the fact that they didn't inform him about the man being taken into custody; _maybe._

  


  
'Thank you, gentlemen,' Voldemort says to the two Aurors without removing his penetrating gaze from Mr Smith, 'but I'll take it from here.'

  


  
And he smiles viciously towards the red head in the chair, whose blue eyes turn into the size of saucers upon hearing him say those words. Lord Voldemort is going to enjoy this very much. He can feel it and it invigorates him. This is surely a beautiful day.

  


  
The door slams shut behind the Aurors and it turns incredibly silent in the room. The drop of a needle will be easy to locate right now and he enjoys this tense silence a lot, so he maintains it, staring at Achilles. After a while he starts to stroll around the room, and he pulls out his wand in a deliberate, very visible, and slow motion. The corner of his mouth tugs upward when Smith shifts in his seat nervously as he passes the man's back, and he decides to sit down on the corner of the table right next to Smith. He is twirling his wand between his fingers casually, when he notices the large wet spot in the trembling man's pants.

  


  
'Not entirely housebroken, Smith?' he says condescendingly with a huge smirk on his face.

  


  
The man's cheeks flush in embarrassment and it makes him gloat enormously. Oh the joy of humiliating others, he never gets tired of it. With a swift move he pushes his wand against Achilles temple. Smith closes his eyes and starts to tremble severely. 'Answer me, Smith,' he says taunting. 'Or do I need to help you find your tongue?'

  


  
'No, please,' Achilles says dead frightened.

  


  
'Please,' Voldemort repeats slowly, like he is trying the word out on his tongue. 'Hmm… I do not respond kindly to beggars who have nothing to offer me, Smith.'

  


  
And he trails his wand across the man's facial features slowly, weighing his many wonderful possibilities here.

  


  
'And you have absolutely nothing to hand me that will make your death come easy and quickly. Oh yes, you will die, Achilles Smith, eventually. But first, I am going to make you feel pain like you never knew was possible. I am going to torture you non-stop for days, until there isn't a single cell of your body still functioning in the manner it is suppose too. And then, I am going to heal you and make you watch as I torture your wife and child. A little girl of only eleven years of age… you have to admit the options I have there are delicious…'

  


  
'You bastard!' shouts Achilles and his hands reach out to strangle Voldemort, but he has already cast the Cruciatus Curse and the Hufflepuf smashes to the ground violently.

  


  
It is such a fine method of starting a torture session. After all, the Cruciatus Curse only hurts a lot. If applied properly, there are no lasting effects and he can continue torturing the man in more creative methods after it. Besides a nice Crucio always does wonders in lifting his spirits. The curse has a lovely feel to it when it leaves your wand. It sends a delightful, tingling sensation through your own nerves, while the recipient screams in agony. Yesss, definitely delightful, and he closes his eyes and bathes in it, before lifting the curse.

  


  
'Yes Smith, you're right. I am a true bastard, but you are the one who used his daughter in order to lure me over there,' he whispers, while prowling around Achilles. 'You kept her away from Hogwarts, knowing full well I would not let such a blatant opposition to my policies pass by unpunished. You used your own flesh and blood, your little girl, as bait to try and assassinate me. You are the one who dragged her into this. So what does that make you?' he asks smiling and he tilts his head at the distressed man on the floor.

  


  
'Touch her in such a manner and I will kill you,' Achilles hisses.

  


  
Lord Voldemort snorts condescendingly. 'You already tried that, Smith, and failed. Now, you and your family will face the consequences of your failure. And I daresay you are greatly misinformed if you think I will get off on a child. But I suppose I can always find someone who will,' he adds viciously.

  


  
Smith scowls and his leg swirls out to kick Voldemort, but he steps aside calmly and laughs out loud, while sending out another short burst of the Cruciatus Curse through the man.

  


  
'Pathetic, Smith, just like your brainless assassination scheme. Tell me, did you really think I would let you get away with an attempt on my life? Did you think I would simply forgive and forget? Were you so foolish to think you would succeed?' and another cold laugh leaves his lips.

  


  
'Crucio.'

  


  
And so he taunts and tortures Achilles Smith for an hour, keeping a firm eye on the man's mental stability. The man is clawing at the ground for some form of support, some way to relief his agony and he has not only wet his pants again, but his control over everything else has dropped also. It is when Voldemort waves his hand over the man's head and forces him to look him in the eye.

  


  
'Leglimency,' he whispers calmly.

  


  
Images flash by for his eyes and he finds and takes what he needs promptly. When he drops the spell, he smiles triumphantly at the shaking, panting and perspiring man, who has soiled himself thoroughly.

  


  
'Thanks for telling me where to find them, Achilles. You have been most accommodating,' he sneers and he swirls out of the room, while Smith's desperate scream vibrates through the walls.

  


  
'Rotterdam, Crooswijk,' he barks at the nearest Auror and he flings his wand around to make a map appear that points out the exact location of the Smith family. 'Bring me his wife and daughter intact. Anyone else who gets in the way you may dispose of.'

  


  
A team of Aurors leaves quickly and he gets a nice cup of coffee to take with him into the interrogation room in the mean time. Smith is still lying on the floor shivering as he enters and he pulls up a chair and sniffs. Hmmm… that disgusting stench is definitely interfering with his precious cappuccino break. So he swirls his wand around to prevent Smith's rotten odour from reaching his slit for nostrils. Now, he can absorb and appreciate the fine smell of this delicious beverage thoroughly. Nothing beats a nice cappuccino in between torture sessions. Well, perhaps a nice shag will…

  


  
He tilts his head in contemplation and looks at the man on the ground. He supposes he can always clean him up first, because he is definitely not sticking his cock into that septic tank over there. Too bad Mrs Smith looks even more like a hag than all the Bulstrodes placed together, because doing her would, no doubt, inflict more damage upon Achilles' state of mind than sodomising him. However, he does have his standards and this couple is not even nearing the baseline of it. He will just have to wait until his agreeable time here is over and done with, so he can go back to Hogwarts and pin Hermione down on the nearest piece of furniture available. Her voluptuous figure whirls before his eyes and he can barely refrain himself from going over there straight away, but he is here for a reason. He is proving to himself he still is who he has been. And it pleases him sincerely that he is right. It's just around the girl that he is experiencing problems. But Lord Voldemort will overcome that too, as he always does. He never loses. Never.

  


  
He places his empty cup on the table and leans back in the chair, resting his arms behind his head casually, when the door opens.

  


  
'Daddy!' a little girl shouts.

  


  
Eliza Smith whirls out from underneath the grasp of the Auror escorting her and she runs to her father. The Auror flips out his wand to retrieve the girl, but halts and pockets his wand again upon seeing that Voldemort shakes his head calmly. He glances amusedly at the touching reunion, before turning his attention towards the next person that is brought into the room, bound and gagged, but still struggling forcibly. He raises his eyebrows at the Auror.

  


  
'She has been difficult,' the man says apologetic. 'Ouch!' the Auror yells, when Mrs Smith strikes his shin forcefully.

  


  
Lord Voldemort roars with laughter and the Smith woman glares at him furiously, which he finds incredibly entertaining.

  


  
'Have a seat, darling,' he says snorting, and with a simple wave of his wand, Mrs Smith is tossed into a chair. 'We're going to be here for a very long time.'

  


  
It isn't until late in the evening that he arrives back at Hogwarts, still flushed with excitement about today. The screams, the pleas, the fear, the terror and horror … he breathed it all in and rejoiced in his vengeance. He took extreme pleasure in slowly killing the little girl, watching the despair of her parents grow beyond measure when Eliza's screams stilled and her eyes became vacant. Opening the door to his study, he can't help but thinking that it truly was a lovely day. His eyes fall upon Hermione, sitting in the couch reading. Scratch that… it still is a lovely day, and it is about to get even lovelier.

  


  
Hermione seems completely enraptured by the book she is reading. He ordered some House-elf, named Dinky, Trinky, Stinky, or whatever, to get her any book from the library she desired that he would not have a problem with. It has taken that burden of his shoulders quite admirably. He takes in the woman on the couch thoroughly. She really is magnificent in the way she sits there. His witch is sitting where she belongs: on his couch, reading his book, in his chambers. He sees how Hermione's hair on the left side is tucked behind her ear and on the right side it curls around her face. She bites her lip in concentration as he noticed her do before while reading. Another leave gets turned around, and the pupils of her sparkling brown eyes begin moving from left to right again, taking in the words that are written down on the page quickly.

  


  
'Mine,' he thinks obsessively and as he moves to sit down beside her, she looks up at him.

  


  
'Hello dear,' he says suavely. 'Enjoying your book?'

  


  
And he tilts his head to see what she is reading, but the book is still opened up and there is no title printed at the top of the page. And come to think of it, he actually isn't interested in literature at the moment.

  


  
'It's quite interesting,' Hermione responds blankly.

  


  
'I'm sure I can provide you with something a lot more entertaining,' he says deviously.

  


  
His left hand teases her side as he leans forward to kiss her extensively. Hermione tilts her head slightly and their tongues clash. Delicious, that is what she is. Her arms have travelled around his neck, while his are moving over her breasts to her hips. A burst of magic makes her moan and he begins to mould her entire body to adjust it to his needs. Merlin, he is overjoyed with this compatible magic business. He revels in it and it excites him, making him…

  


  
The sound of a page being flipped reaches his eardrums and he pulls away from Hermione's mouth immediately. His eyes dart to his right where a book hovers in midair and he turns his attention back to the now apologetic looking witch.

  


  
'It's a really interesting book,' she whispers, while her cheeks flush somewhat embarrassed.

  


  
'More interesting than me?' he asks slowly, staring into her brown eyes. They almost seem darker now, but it must be because the lighting in this room is not too bright. He waves his hand at the book, thrusting it out of the way.

  


  
'So…,' he says threatening, hovering his lips within an inch of hers. 'Now that I have your full attention, Hermione, I think I may need to punish you for this insulting behaviour of yours.'

  


  
Her pupils dilate and she shrieks when he, roughly, binds her wrists together and tosses her over his shoulder. 'Yes, you definitely need to be punished,' he smoothly adds, patting her on her behind anticipatory, as he walks away to a room where he has more access to the right attributes to show this insolent woman that Lord Voldemort always must receive the proper attention he is entitled to.

  


  
They reach the bedroom quietly and he stands there smiling broadly. He is going to enjoy this extremely. With a snap of his fingers, her clothes are gone and he lowers her naked figure before him. Lustful, he glares into her aroused eyes, while his hands take a hold of her bound wrists and he raises them into the air. He allows the ropes to twist in such a manner that he can place her hands behind her head and then he tightens the ropes again. 'You will do what I tell you, when I tell you to do it. Non-compliance will be punished immediately. Is that clear?'

  


  
She nods cautiously.

  


  
'Good,' he purrs and he traces the edge of her face with a finger. 'Stand here.'

  


  
Fully clothed, he takes several steps back and starts admiring her naked body. Her cheeks flush with embarrassment and her eyes dart to a vacant spot on the wall. Now that won't do. 'Look at me,' he orders. 'And watch how I measure your body's worthiness to me.'

  


  
He sees her flinch in discomfort and it exhilarates him. Yes, there is no amount of impudence a little humiliation can't fix. But she is magnificent, he has to admit that. 'Turn around; I want you to show yourself to me,' he says evenly.

  


  
Lord Voldemort keeps his face blank, determined not to make her at ease by acknowledging his arousal at seeing her like this and he is very thankful for his wide robes at the moment. Hermione starts to turn around. 'Slowly,' he adds warningly.

  


  
And it delights him how she complies. When she faces him again, he nods approvingly. 'Turn around, face the bed,' he orders harshly.

  


  
He sees her brief anxiety, before she complies and waits there with her back towards him. She jerks when he touches her hair with one hand and moves beside her in a tardy manner. His right hand trails down her spine all the way to her bottom, while his left arm wraps around her waist. 'Place your arms above your head,' he orders.

  


  
He can feel her trembling as she does his bidding and it excites him. 'So you think you can insult me by ignoring my presence?' he asks amused.

  


  
She shakes her head, but only just; and in a fluent motion he bends her double and smacks her on her behind. She jerks in surprise. 'I didn't quite catch that,' he responds cruelly.

  


  
'No.. no,' she whispers and he can hear the badly hidden excitement in her voice.

  


  
'Gryffindors,' he thinks smirking, and he smacks her another time. 'So what was that display in the study about then?' he demands her to tell him.

  


  
'A mistake,' Hermione squeaks.

  


  
Smack! 'A mistake?' he asks threatening. 'You think I tolerate mistake like these? Do you think I care to hear such a feeble answer?' Smack!

  


  
'No, no, I am sorry,' she says quickly.

  


  
Smack! 'I have no tolerance for measly excuses either,' he snarls quietly. Smack! 'You will never disrespect me like that ever again. Is that clear Granger?'

  


  
'Yes, yes, crystal,' she responds and he sees her arousal. 'I promise it will never happen again.'

  


  
'Hmmm…' he says contemplating and he wets his finger before slowly inserting it into her arse. Her muscles tighten around him and she feels very delectable. It will be his pleasure to ride her in at that place.

  


  
'You will reimburse this act of foolishness to me right now,' he whispers, while inserting another finger and moving them around teasingly. A moan escapes the girl's lips and his demeanour changes immediately. 'On the bed, face down,' he adds harshly.

  


  
And he pushes her to add some speed to the enactment. A snap of his fingers and his clothes are gone to. Kicking her legs to the side and grabbing a hold of her hips firmly, he places his hardened and erected cock against the opening of her arse.

  


  
'Relax your muscles, doll,' he says softly, while he slowly enters her arse.

  


  
Not that he will mind ripping her apart at the scene, but he has only just started and he has so much more planned for this evening. He gives her time to adjust to his cock entering her in a place it has not been before and uses magic to help her there. When he has fully entered her, he savours the moment of how she feels around him before flipping out his wand. A smirk graces his features as he starts to ride her from behind, making her feel who is in charge her. She whimpers briefly in discomfort and he enjoys it. He breathes in the way her naked body lies on her stomach before him, helpless and defenceless. Her arms are lying above her head, still tied by the ropes he magically threw around them, and he keeps the rest of her body in place with magic, not allowing her to move more than a few inches.

  


  
However, her little whimpers soon turn into moans of pleasure and it astonishes him how fast the good little Gryffindor catches on. He begins to pound into her anus a bit more forcefully and decides a reward is in order. So he sticks his wand in her pussy, making her gasp in anticipation, before he flicks it around circle wise, casting a thoroughly wicked Dark Arts Sex Spell. A loud scream of pleasure is the response he gets to his magical stimulation of her vulnerable areas and he pounds into her harder. He feels the tremor of her muscles and she screams wonderfully.

  


  
'Yes! Oh God, don't stop!'

  


  
He laughs at her cries and grabs a hold of her curls to pull her head back towards him roughly. 'Giving me orders now, witch?' he snarls into her ear.

  


  
Panting, she is shaking her head in denial in the little movement his grasp is allowing her. Her soft cheek brushes his lips and he licks her skin. 'I am in charge here, Hermione,' he says threatening, while nibbling on her ear.

  


  
'Yes,' she replies, laced with desire.

  


  
'It will be wise to consider what I can do to you right now,' and he flicks his wand to cast another spell inside her pussy. She gasps in both pain and desire. 'Do you like this, witch?' he snarls, tugging on her hair roughly. 'Do you like me to punish you? Do you like to know what I can do to you?'

  


  
'Yes, oh yes,' she groans.

  


  
With a swift motion he removes his wand from her pussy and she whimpers in disappointment. Delight spreads through him as he flicks his wand to the cupboard. 'Accio!'

  


  
'I warned you not to tempt me, witch. Now, I will punish you.'

  


  
He whips his wand at the large magical toy and it enters her roughly. With a devious smirk, he adds his magic to the toy, knowing it will drive her up the wall, and it starts moving on its own. 'Come for me, Hermione,' he orders into her ear.

  


  
_'Oooohhhh!' she moans._

  


  
And he starts moving his cock inside her arse again, while placing his wand arm around her waist, holding her delicious body against him. While he is pounding into her relentlessly, he does not release the hold he has on her hair, but instead is giving it a firm tug with every trust he administers to her. He is gritting his teeth, preventing his own release to spill inside of her before she comes. He wants her to yield to him first. He wants to feel her muscles shake and tense beneath him. She will know her place.

  


  
'Do as your told, doll!' he snarls into her ear; tugging on her hair, so her head turns backwards and sideways, allowing him to capture her mouth.

  


  
She is trying to enter his mouth with her tongue, but he will not allow that. He is control of her, so he pulls away and glares into her darkening brown eyes. 'Don't,' he says menacingly. 'You will submit to my lead, doll. Do you understand me?'

  


  
'Yes,' she says in a moaning manner that almost makes him come instantaneously; the trickery, little witch.

  


  
And he forces his tongue in her mouth, exploring it fully and harshly. Showing this insolent woman who she belongs to and taking great pleasure in subduing her. A flash of his wand towards the toy in her pussy and he adds a magical stimulation of her clit to it. He presses his mouth into hers; not allowing her the option of a scream, and the muffled sounds that reach his ears makes him feel overjoyed. He feels her body starting to shake violently and he releases her mouth and picks up the pace. Lowering his arm to round around her hips, he pulls her against him with every trust.

  


  
'Scream for me when you come, doll,' he orders, tugging her hair once more so her back is arched against his chest.

  


  
And she does. People, living all the way in London, would have been able to hear that scream if he hadn't administered a Silencing Charm around his quarters. And he comes to completion too, pulling her tightly to him when he spills his semen inside of her arse. 'Good girl,' he purrs, panting heavily, before pulling out of her and shoving her to the ground on her knees by her hair.

  


  
'Now, I will grant you some use of magic here,' he says quietly, while sitting down into the chair he summoned behind him. 'So you can satisfy me again, witch.'

  


  
And he gives her head a small tug towards his softening member to clarify his intentions for her. She is after all not that experienced. 'If I feel any teeth, I will be very disappointed,' he whispers warningly, 'and you do not want to disappoint me, Hermione. I am not a kind man.'

  


  
She looks up towards him questioningly, while she holds out her bound hands for him to untie. He smirks. 'You'll manage,' he says, denying her that freedom. 'If you know what is good for you.'

  


  
He thoroughly enjoys the worried glance she casts him, but not nearly as much as the touch of her hands on his cock and the feel of her mouth at the tip of it. He instantaneously begins to harden again when she strokes his lengthening shaft with her hands and circles her tongue around the tip of his cock. 'Yes, that's it, Hermione, use our magic,' he says moaning when he feels it enter his body at the touch of her delicate hands.

  


  
Relaxing, he sinks back in the chair, but he does not release his hold on her hair. He enjoys the feel of her curls around his fingers and he massages her scalp while she pleasures him. He can tell by her hesitant actions that she is uncertain if she is doing it right, so he reassures her, but only a bit. No need for her to get comfortable. His fingers clutch on to her hair abruptly when she takes a hold of his balls to and invigorates them with their magic. Maybe that enterprising attitude of hers isn't such a big drag after all.

  


  
'Oh yessss,' he hisses, while the delicious sensation travels through his body.

  


  
And she starts sucking his penis more confidently due to his verbal and nonverbal responses. It's when she halts and returns back to only lick the fluids of his tip. She is teasing him by not giving him what he wants immediately. Oh this woman is going to drive him insane. And he groans in disappointment and arousal. 'Tease,' he accuses.

  


  
She hits him with their magic, but he still catches the little smirk at his accusation and he decides to punish her for that insolence. So while he arches in response to the overwhelming wonderful sensation of their magic travelling through every nerve of his body, he clutches on to her hair and pushes her head towards him. He is making her take his member into her mouth fully. To his delight, she gags and he holds her there firmly. He loves the feel of his cock inside that delicious mouth of hers and he wants to stay there forever.

  


  
'You are not in control, witch,' he hisses. 'Now, I will punish you for your insolent smirk.'

  


  
He starts trusting back and forth in her mouth, while keeping a vicelike grip of her hair to make sure she stays in place. 'Work with me,' he adds warningly.

  


  
And she starts sucking his cock deliciously, gagging every time he hits the back of her throat. Yes, this is truly heaven. He can feel he is about to come and so he warns her.

  


  
'I want you to drown in me, Hermione,' he purrs, while continuing to trust inside of her. 'I want every part of your body to be touched by my semen, my DNA, my essence. I will taint you everywhere, until you are all mine. And you are not to waste a single drop of it, or you will regret it sincerely. Remember what I said before, dearest, I am not a kind man.'

  


  
It's when those words leave his lips, that he spasms inside of her and spills it all in the back of her throat. And even though she gags, she still manages to lick and suck it all in and he relishes at the sight of seeing her swallow his essence. He loosens his grip on her hair and allows her to retreat slowly. When she is completely detached from him, he tugs her into his lap with a smooth wave of his wand. Her legs are placed on each side of his naked body.

  


  
'Put your arms around my neck,' he orders, staring directly into her beautiful dark brown eyes.

  


  
She complies immediately and he can't stop gazing at her. Her eyes are definitely darker than before, he is certain of that now. He should have known she could take this admirably, but he still marvels at her lustful eyes, despite the pounding he just administered. Most women, he did that to, were either furious, scared, crying or all of the above. Not aroused like her. She is truly made for him.

  


  
'I want to taste myself inside of you,' he whispers.

  


  
He leans toward her, while she tilts her head, opens her mouth and closes her eyes in anticipation. It makes him want to eat every part of her and his mouth crashes on hers violently and his tongue devours her, while his hands roam across her scalp. She feels so good, so delightful and he has never felt happier in his life. Suddenly, he feels like sharing it with her. She pleased him; she still pleases him. Wrapping his arms tightly around her waist, he lifts her up and walks to the bed, while they continue their passionate kissing performance. For a moment he waits at the edge of the bed, thoroughly enjoying his taste in her mouth.

  


  
She shrieks in surprise when he roughly throws her backward onto the bed. A flick of his wrist and her hands fly to the headboard to be chained down to it. A devious smirk crosses his features as he crawls on top of her, because making her nervous, about what he is going to do to her, is so exquisitely entertaining to him. He pins her down into the mattress with his body and holds his face right in front of hers.

  


  
'You've pleased me, Hermione,' he whispers on her lips, withdrawing just enough to keep their distance when she attempts to kiss him.

  


  
Clicking his tongue disapprovingly at that action, he continues to talk. 'I have the initiative here, my dearest, as you should be well aware of. So I recommend you lie back and enjoy, because I am not often this generous.'

  


  
Slowly, he starts trailing kisses down her neck and he feels her shiver beneath him when he reaches her breasts. He takes his time in licking, kissing and sucking on each nipple in turn and he smiles at the luscious, little sounds she is beginning to make at his handiwork. Impeccably and calmly, he takes his time to explore the skin of her belly with his tongue and he teases her by sticking it into her bellybutton and then… he sucks on it diligently. He hears her gasp and smiles into her skin, before lowering himself between her legs. A crude coarse word reaches his ears when his mouth comes in contact with the delicate flesh down there and he enjoys how wet she already is.

  


  
For a second, he looks up to revel in her flustered and aroused state. 'Scream, plead, beg … do whatever you want, Hermione, but I won't stop, until I am good and well done with you,' he hisses smiling. 'Let's see how well you taste.'

  


  
And he trails his finger through her folds, making her buck towards him in reflex, before he brings his dripping finger to his mouth. 'Exquisite,' he mutters, as he slowly sucks it off in a clear demonstration of what he is going to do to her next. 'I am going to make you scream for mercy, darling.'

  


  
And he dives in there, making good on his promise by tasting her fully and removing every last drop of her fluids with his mouth. She is shaking and bucking beneath him, but it's nothing a bit of magic can't fix and he holds her hips forcefully in place, while he moves on to her clit. Meticulously, he uses his tongue to stimulate the sensible spot and he laughs out loud when she yells and trashes with her upper body. Yes, Lord Voldemort knows how to touch a woman and he is nowhere near satisfied with her responses, yet. He keeps her on the crest of this wave for a very long time. Flicking his tongue in her vagina to demonstrate what she is missing there.

  


  
'Oh, please, please … I can't take this anymore,' Hermione mumbles exhausted.

  


  
It's when he decides to take pity on her and starts to crawl on top of her slowly, tracking his path with his tongue and once more stimulating her nipples when he arrives at her breasts. She moans and groans and bucks toward him after he releases his hold on her lower body. But he is not entering her yet.

  


  
'Aren't you going to thank me?' he whispers on to her lips deviously and he pinches her clit merciless with his hand.

  


  
' _Ohhh..._ Yes, thank you,' Hermione replies, gazing back into his eyes, and bucking once more against his hips _._

  


  
He gazes back at her; contemplating whether her response satisfies him enough. And he feels his own arousal at their contact. Tentatively, he shakes his head. 'Not good enough,' he responds cruel and he sees her pupils dilate in horror just before he dives back down between her legs teasingly.

  


  
'Fuck!' Hermione screams.

  


  
'Not until you've learnt some manners,' he informs her, while targeting her clit intensively and sticking his tongue inside of her to remove the fluid build-up.

  


  
She trashes beneath him and he enjoys the despair that rings through her shouts of lust and desire. 'Oh please, please stop! Oh, yes right there … No… _Ohhhh…_ I can't take this anymore… Please, thank you, thank you, thank you!' she shouts repeatedly _._

  


  
But it is not what he is waiting for, so he continuous assiduously.

  


  
'My Lord!' she finally adds yelling.

  


  
Within seconds he is on top of her, grabs her head and kisses her exhaustively on the mouth. A forceful trust and he is inside of her fully. Pressing his hips into hers, he holds her steady and lifts his head slightly to look into her adorable, desirable eyes.

  


  
'Yessss,' he hisses, 'I am your Lord now.'

  


  
And they start rocking back and forth violently. 'But it does feel so fitting to hear it coming from those impudent lips of yours,' he says vicious.

  


  
He feels so delighted that he places extra force into his trusts upon speaking those words, like he wants to exit her body on the other side. So she will know who is the master here. He notes she is shaking beneath him from her orgasm and her walls are clenching around his length like a fist, drawing him in further. 'Fuck, Granger!' he shouts as he comes instantaneously.

  


  
Finally, he plummets beside her in the bed, feeling utterly satisfied. To his surprise, Hermione turns toward him and snuggles her body against his side. He stiffens for a moment when her arms wrap around him, one of her legs lands between his and her head comes to rest on his chest. He has never before allowed someone to hold him this intimate afterwards and he is about to push her away when he realises he kinds of enjoys the feeling of her lying there. He kisses her on her hair and wraps his arms around her waist, holding her tightly until she sleeps.

  


  
A couple of days later he is enjoying himself in his study with the images of Achilles when he finished off his wife. Delightful, utterly delightful. HA! He knew he would beat this Amulet the minute it started showing him memories of Sally. The stone definitely lost its touch if it thinks he will be remorseful over her. He has never done anything to Woodburn to be remorseful about. Perhaps it thinks that showing him a muggle, whom he remotely got along with, will help him see the error of his ways. Well, he tolerated Woodburn, because she amused him, but that is all. A snort escapes his lips and he sees Herm… Granger looking up from her book curiously, but she shrugs and turns her attention back to her reading. Yes, Granger, keep reading. Just how much longer do you need to find the answer? He really thought she was supposed to be clever.

  


  
Sally Woodburn, he'd forgotten about her. She really was funny with her totally blunt remarks to … well, everyone. He had seen Mrs Cole pace away from the girl with her hands in her hair and he had thoroughly enjoyed the sight of that. He snickers. He turns his head towards Hermione, but her head snaps back into the book immediately. Hmmm… there sits another blunt person. How would Sally be doing now? Probably not good, after all she is a muggle and of his age, so she most likely is dead now. Muggles don't share the same lifespan wizards do. It is a sure testament to their inferiority.

  


  
He taps with his fingers on the desk and he glances back into the direction of Hermione who appears to be reading. Yet he notices her pupils are focussing on one particular spot in the book. So he isn't the only one contemplating things. Come on, Granger, get a move on. He needs to know the answer to this inconvenient eye issue of his. It doesn't amuse him at all that he has to keep on applying those insane Glamour Charms every time he goes out.

  


  
Though the memory, that the Amulet showed him, gives him a small hint as to what is causing the changes. Sally was one of the first people who commented on his eye colour change. And he now remembers when it started happening for the first time, but he needs to be sure. He needs Hermione to verify his assumptions. He really doesn't have the time to do research. He still has Achilles Smith to torture and Alecto Carrow still needs to get what is coming to her. A brief shiver of delight flies through his body.

  


  
Sally Woodburn … he had seen her only one more time after they both left the orphanage. And he smiles upon the memory of that interesting evening.

  


  
…

  


  
' _Then we have nothing more to say to each other,' he said, with barely contained rage, even though he had gotten the response from the man, he had been expecting in advance._

  


  
_'No nothing,' responded Dumbledore sadly. 'The time is long gone when I could frighten you with a burning wardrobe and force you to make repayment for your crimes. But I wish I could, Tom … I wish I could …'_

  


  
_A flare of fury flew through him when the old coot reminded him of his foolish behaviour back then and his hand itched to draw his wand and curse the one person that always had been in his way. But he came here for a reason and he couldn't afford to lose sight of that reason by starting a duel with Dumbledore. So he swirled out the door and slammed it shut behind him. Feeble old man, someday, he would pay for every time he thwarted Lord Voldemort._

  


  
_Quickly, he walked down the corridors on the seventh floor. His long black cloak was bellowing behind him from the speed of his pace and the excitement he was feeling would have been obvious to anyone despite the permanent bloody look his eyes had gotten. They almost seem to glow in anticipation on his snow-white face. He passed the hidden door three times, while thinking: 'I need a place to hide my Horcrux.'_

  


  
_It wasn't until he was walking back towards his Death Eaters, feeling thoroughly exhilarated that he fooled Dumbledore once more, that he thought of Sally Woodburn for the first time in the last ten years. He had walked this path a million times having to go back to that wretched place in the summer and that made him think of her. Would she be alright? The last thing, he heard about her, was that she had got married to a doctor Farnon, and he knew where the Farnons lived. So the moment he arrived in Hogsmeade, he Apparated away to the Farnon residence. No harm in checking up on her. The humongous house on the end of the lane made him smirk, because he remembered Mrs Cole's outburst._

  


  
_'You'll end up on the street selling your body and begging for money with that attitude, young lady.'_

  


  
_It pleased him sincerely that Sally proved the bitch wrong and was now living under far better circumstances than that always intoxicated woman ever would. But he still needed to take a good look at this Farnon bloke. Money, after all, was not a guarantee that he was at all a decent fellow. He had walked upon the garden lane of a huge mansion before at age sixteen and his fists clenched at the memory. No, he had to make sure this rich muggle knew that he would piss him off sincerely, if he didn't treat Woodburn right._

  


  
_The bell chimed through the house and he waited. Technically, it was a bit late to be knocking on people's front door, but that did not concern him. The house was brightly lit after all, so they were still up. The door opened and in it stood Sally._

  


  
_'Tom!' she said and she jumped outside into his arms. 'You evil man, not letting me know that you were alright or anything… And missing my wedding!'_

  


  
_'Ouch!' he said when her fist collided with his biceps._

  


  
_'I had to work,' he said, remembering how Hepzibah fell to the ground lifeless that day._

  


  
_'So you couldn't let me know? And … wow, what happened to your face?'_

  


  
_'Magic,' he muttered._

  


  
_'Oh well, that is always your answer to everything, isn't it?' she said, crossing her arms and looking him up and down._

  


  
_He, suddenly, wished he hadn't come here and was about to say goodbye, when she grabbed his arm and dragged him inside._

  


  
_'We better go inside, you don't look healthy and that snow is cold,' she said bossy, brushing the snow of his cloak._

  


  
_'Stop mothering me, Woodburn,' he hissed. 'I am not sick. On the contrary, I've improved my health considerably.'_

  


  
_'Hmmm… let's see what Siegfried says about that,' Sally rebutted_.

  


  
_'Do I look like a four legged creature to you?' he said outraged. He surely didn't need to be examined by some veterinarian that didn't have the intelligence to study to become a real doctor._

  


  
_'Mummy, I can't sleep,' said a tiny girl, holding on to the leg of a teddy bear, while standing on top of the stairs._

  


  
_Sally turned. 'Then, why don't I get you a nice cup of cocoa? Do you think that will help?'_

  


  
_The girl nodded vigorously and sped of the stairs. 'Who are you?' she asked curiously._

  


  
_'This is Tom. He is a … friend,' Sally said, eyeing him teasingly, because she knew perfectly well how he felt about that word and the despicable relationship it implied._

  


  
_'Hi,' the girl said._

  


  
_'Hi,' he grunted back. Great, midgets, just what he needed. Why had he come here again?_

  


  
_'Siegfried!' Sally shouted and she patted the girl on the back. 'Go ahead dear, I'll be right there.'_

  


  
_Sally turned and faced him again with an amused smile on her face._

  


  
_'What?' he asked annoyed. God, he had forgotten how irritating she could be._

  


  
_'I see you still haven't got over your dislike for children,' she responded snorting. 'I guess I don't have to ask whether you got any of your own.'_

  


  
_The answer must have been written all over his face, because she started laughing and rubbed his arm caringly._

  


  
_'What is it, Sal?' a man with kind hazel eyes asked, eyeing the stranger in his hall with curiosity._

  


  
_'This is Tom Riddle, hon. Tom, this is my husband, Siegfried Farnon.'_

  


  
_'Nice to finally meet you,' Siegfried said, holding out his hand. 'I've heard so much about you.'_

  


  
_'Now, hon… no need to give him the impression that I do nothing but gossip,' Sally interrupted._

  


  
_'Oh, I am sure Tom here already knows you,' Siegfried responded teasingly._

  


  
_Sally rolled her eyes._

  


  
_'MUM!' was the impatient shout coming from the kitchen._

  


  
_'Coming!' Sally replied. 'She can't sleep, so I promised her some cocoa. Can you show Tom to the living room? I'll be right there,' she added, eyeing Tom briefly._

  


  
_'Don't hurry,' Siegfried responded to her and he sent Tom a conspiring glance. 'So tell me, what was she really like back then?'_

  


  
_'EH!' Sally shouted in mock resentment. 'No talking behind my back!'_

  


  
_Tom smirked and Siegfried chuckled._

  


  
_'No where is the fun in complying with that demand?' Siegfried asked mischievous, while walking back to the living room and showing Tom the way._

  


  
_'No fun at all,' Tom conspired back calmly. He had a feeling this man was alright for Sally._

  


  
_It became very late that night, before he left. Sally and Siegfried had offered him the guestroom, but he declined. He needed to go and become the greatest, most powerful sorcerer of all time. And he needed to let go of his past to do that. They said goodbye amicably, but as he was strolling down the lane, he glanced back over his shoulder and saw Sally stare at him with concern written all over her face._

  


  
...

  


  
Suddenly, he feels like he is being watched and it jogs him out of his reminiscence. From the corner of his eye, he peeks stealthy into the direction of Hermione Granger. Now, what is the matter with her? She is definitely squinting her eyes at him. It is almost like she is trying to see something. And he had seen her looking at him previously, though she tried to hide it. He turns his head and captures her gaze, but she turns all red and hides behind the book immediately. Now, he is intrigued. Swiftly, he moves out of his chair and paces towards her. Her eyes widen and she seems to desperately want to get rid of the book.

  


  
'Accio!' he casts quickly, before she has a chance to vanquish it.

  


  
He notices that she buries her face in her hands as he turns the book around to look at what is so bloody important that she would try to get rid of it, before he has a chance to see it. He glares at the page she was interested in and then glares back at the girl.

  


  
'What do you think you are doing with this?' he utters threateningly.  
  
---  
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	22. Chapter 22

---  
  
  
**The bittersweet Taste of Victory**

  


  
_What on earth am I meant to do  
  
In this crowded place there is only you  
  
Was gonna leave now I have to stay  
  
You have taken my breath away_

  


  
_Destiny has a funny way  
  
When it comes and takes all your cares away  
  
I can't think of a single thing  
  
Other than what a beautiful state I'm in_

  


  
_Is the world still spinning around  
  
I don't feel like I'm coming down_

  


  
_It's in your eyes  
  
I can tell what you're thinking  
  
My heart is sinking too  
  
It's no suprise  
  
I've been watching you lately  
  
I want to make it with you_

  


  
  
  
Kylie Minogue, In your eyes.

  


  
**Chapter twenty-two**

  


  
_A thunderstorm roars above my head, making the environment even more creepy and dark in between the bright flashes of the lightning. I jerk when another lightning bolt strikes the sole tree a couple of yards away. I don't like storms and this one seems to stir and attack Mother Nature herself. It frightens me severely, because I can sense darkness and evil coming from it. This is a true killer storm and I am certain it is not an act of nature. I can feel it._

  


  
_Oh Merlin, I am scared. I want my parents. I need my parents. Where are they? I can't find them anywhere. Why are they gone? Why have they left me? Why am I all alone? I am all alone! I can't do this! I can't do this!_

  


  
_Clouds are beginning to form all around me; the storm is approaching. I have to leave or it will swallow me whole. I swirl around trying to get my bearing, but I have no idea where I am. However, I do notice that I am standing in the middle of a clearing of some forest! During a thunderstorm! Have I gone mental? I know I need to get to safety, but where is that? I thought I saw a house before, but where? I don't remember anymore. I stare at the smouldering tree. I am the highest point in this field now. I am next. It's going to hit me next._

  


  
' _It's alright, Hermione, you're safe. Everything is going to be fine.'_

  


  
_I stare at the dark haired boy, who suddenly appeared a few feet away and who spoke to me reassuringly. His features are blurred around the edges and it seems he is not solid, because I can see the trees in the distance through him. There is something familiar about him, but I can't quite pinpoint exactly what, and he reaches out his hand towards me. I don't know if I should take it. I wish I could see him more clearly._

  


  
' _Harry?' I ask uncertain._

  


  
_Still, the boy feels familiar and with that dark hair Harry is my best guess. He has always been there for me before in my hour of need. It has to be Harry. It has to be. But the stretched out hand gets withdrawn and mist swirls around him. No, no, I don't want to be alone in this storm. I can't face all this darkness alone._

  


  
' _Don't go, Harry, we're in this together,' I say panicking._

  


  
_A flash and lightning strikes right before my eyes. Right where the boy, I considered to be Harry, stood only moments ago. A most gruesome, painful scream hits my eardrums and I know he is gone. But I recognise the scream. I've heard it before. The boy I saw was Tom Riddle and he was struck down by this force of evil; never having a chance to escape his destiny in the beginning. I grab a hold of my head in despair and fright. I am going to lose too. I can feel it. Darkness swirls around me and I scream…_

  


  
It is how I wake up: sitting up in the bed with my arms clutched around my head and screaming my lungs out. Disoriented, I look around. I am in the bedroom. It was a dream. A relieved breath falls from my lips and I close my eyes to calm myself down a bit. Gosh, that was a bloody lifelike and vivid dream. It still gives me a haunted and restless, nervous feeling. I shake my body, trying to get the feeling to disappear with the motion. It's when my eyes fall surprised on the unconscious body next to the bed. It seems Lord Voldemort passed out cold again. I hop out of the bed and take in the situation at hand. What happened? The last thing I remember is that I was sitting on the couch reading Everon: elves and their craftsmanship. I don't recall going to the bedroom, putting my sleepwear on and getting in bed. So Voldemort must have brought me here. I must have fallen asleep on the couch. I do recall getting drowsy while reading about the effects of Elf Magic on items of their making and it was a tremendously boring read…

  


  
A yawn escapes me and I bend over to look a bit more closely at Lord Voldemort. He doesn't look well to me. These fainting episodes don't seem to be good for his health. He is barely breathing. It takes me some time to remove his wand from his ice-cold hand, since his fingers are holding it in a tight grasp. It is almost like they are frozen solid around it. But eventually I manage to take his wand, without breaking every bone in his hand, and I cast a Warming Charm on him, before levitating his body into the bed. Well, I don't want to lie next to a freezing Popsicle, thank you very much. And still tired, I also crawl back into the bed. I definitely need some shuteye.

  


  
I toss and turn around in the bed, but that damn Amulet is keeping me awake. It glows like an idiot and trying to hide it underneath my shirt isn't even helping. Angrily, I glare at the man beside me. Sure, he is out cold, getting some totally non-deserved rest, while I lie awake. And I just know that I am going to feel completely worn out in the morning if I don't fall asleep now. Why doesn't he wear the damn thing? He wants to heal that no good soul of his. I grumble some more about the unfairness of it all, and eventually, I almost fall asleep; _almost_.

  


  
Because Voldemort decides in his holy 'Lordship-ness' that this is a wonderful time to start trashing around. Perhaps, he will be more comfortable on the floor? Annoyed, I glare back at him. He is perspiring and his face is disturbingly contorted, like he is in severe pain. And I raise my eyebrows when I hear him mutter fearfully: _'No, not the bunny.'_

  


  
'Not the bunny? Pfffttt…' and a snort escape my lips, followed by a chuckle.

  


  
Oh gosh, too bad I don't have a recording of this. It would have opened up so many delightful options … I could have blackmailed him with it. He would definitely have to let me go, if I could be in the position of relaying that sentence into the world. I lie in the bed shaking with laughter, because really … to hear the most feared wizard of all time say in fright 'no, not the bunny' is kind of hilarious.

  


  
However, my laughter dies out abruptly when his elbow comes into painful contact with my nose. Ouch. Tears spring from my eyes and I quickly grab a hold of his arm, because he is becoming utterly violent in this episode of his. It turns into quite the little wrestling match. I eventually manage to grab a hold of both his arms and pull him against me, but he is still trashing about. A part of me is suddenly very happy that I do not know the details to 'no, not the bunny', because I have this eerie feeling it is not something good. Concern floods through my system as I can see his distress in the overpowering green lighting of the Amulet. It has never shone this brightly before.

  


  
'It's alright. Everything is going to be all right. It is not real. It's that Amulet. You're safe; I got you,' I say, holding him tightly.

  


  
' _Who are you?' I hear him mutter._

  


  
'It's all right. It's me, Hermione,' I say, noticing he is beginning to relax more.

  


  
' _Tom Riddle,' he says, like he is introducing himself._

  


  
I raise my eyebrows. Since when does Voldemort use that name? And I realise he must be seeing things, like I have. Whatever he did to the Amulet to prevent certain powers from targeting him seems to be malfunctioning continuously lately. I wonder what the Amulet is showing him. Memories, perhaps? Now, I wish I was any good at Leglimency. It could have been extremely useful to be aware what the Amulet is making him go through. He is tensing up again. Oh no … I could barely hold him a few moments ago.

  


  
'It's all right,' I repeat, just to say something, hoping it will help, 'I am here. You're safe.'

  


  
Why am I saying that? I must be loosing it.

  


  
' _I have no need for friends.'_

  


  
No kidding.

  


  
However, he still relaxes considerably, even though he occasionally mutters something incomprehensible. It's when I think I heard him say Myrtle's name. Moaning Myrtle? Oh boy, no need for Leglimency there. I know what that must be about.

  


  
' _I am not blind like you, Mudblood,' he hisses viciously. 'If you ever follow me around or bother me again, you won't live long enough to regret it.'_

  


  
I shake my head and roll my eyes at the way he spits out that hateful word; so original. But I suppose to Myrtle it must have been extremely frightening. She must have run for the hills after this, crying no doubt. Unless the next thing I am going to hear slip from his mouth is Parseltongue. Then, it will be safe to assume Myrtle did no more running ever again. But the next thing that Voldemort says is scarier than Parseltongue and I freeze up in the bed.

  


  
' _You make a bloke feel really appreciated, Woodburn.'_

  


  
Woodburn? Woodburn? I frown slightly. It can't be… But my mind starts whirling with memories, bringing back one sentence to haunt me.

  


  
' _You know I used to have a friend who hated the oatmeal that we got served at the orphanage and whenever he got a bowl of it…,' her grandmother whispered, leaning towards Hermione, '…it would somehow change into his favourite cereal.'_

  


  
No way! It couldn't have been. But I know the timetable seems to be … quite right. I try to remember more from the day that sentence was ushered towards me, because I want to desperately disprove what I am beginning to fear and the strangest thing happens. In the glowing green lighting of the Amulet I can actually see my memories, like I am a viewer watching from the sidelines. And I get a clear picture of all that happened that day from a different perspective, instead of the one from my sixth year old self, whom I see skipping along next to my mother. So I tangle along, curiously.

  


  
We are walking up a familiar garden lane towards my grandparents' estate, when I notice the wards shift around the place upon our entry. Wards? They had wards? I don't remember that. Who would have warded my grandparents' home? I halt and wave my hand through the air, but there is no response to my presence. I can not feel any magic in the air. It's probably because I am watching my memories and am not really here. Still, magical wards? I am pretty certain no one in my family is capable of producing them and an eerie feeling of dread is beginning to form. I rub through my eyes and the scenery has changed.

  


  
' _Mum, mum, look what I made!' yelled a little Hermione excitedly as she ran into the living room of her grandparents' estate._

  


  
' _Oh, that is beautiful dear,' her mother replied smiling. 'Why don't you show it to granny?'_

  


  
' _Yes, let's see it,' her grandmother said enthusiastic and she held out her hand to accept the drawing Hermione made. 'That looks like a nice house.'_

  


  
' _It's ours,' Hermione replied._

  


  
' _Oh, and who are all those people in front of it?'_

  


  
' _That is you and granddad Siegfried and mom and dad and Grandma Jean and granddad Tony and me and Kitty.'_

  


  
' _Who is Kitty?' her grandmother asked with a small grin on her face, like she already knew the answer to that question._

  


  
' _That is my cat,' Hermione said certain._

  


  
' _Honey, we've talked about it before,' her mother said stern, 'you're too young to take on the responsibility of an animal.'_

  


  
' _My birthday is in two weeks,' Hermione responded cheerful, ignoring the obvious nee saying of her mother._

  


  
_Her grandmother started laughing and pulled Hermione on her lap, before she addressed her daughter. 'I think you better give up, Rose. She seems pretty determined.'_

  


  
_The door flew open and a man walked in with a bakery box. 'Sorry I am late Sal, but the calves wouldn't come out in the normal manner and we had to operate. So by the time I got to the baker he no longer had chocolate pie, so I brought this cherry flavoured one instead. Everything else for the high tea I got. Hope you don't mind?'_

  


  
_Sally shrugged and shook her head. 'It's fine Siegfried. It's not your fault things didn't go as planned. Are all the calves all right?'_

  


  
' _Yes,' he responded planting the box on the table and lifting Hermione in the air. 'Now, how is my favourite granddaughter?'_

  


  
' _I am fine!' Hermione said, hugging him. 'And I am your only granddaughter.'_

  


  
' _Details, details,' Siegfried said, 'Is my only, and favourite, granddaughter going to have tea with us?'_

  


  
_Hermione nodded vigorously. Sally pulled out the pie from the box and looked at it confused. 'Honey, I thought you said the baker didn't have chocolate pie?'_

  


  
' _He didn't,' Siegfried responded, rubbing Hermione's hair._

  


  
' _Then, what is this?' Sally asked, holding out a chocolate pie in the air._

  


  
_Siegfried stared at it bemused. 'That is not what he put in there. I saw him place a cherry pie in the box.'_

  


  
' _I don't like cherry pie,' Hermione said firmly._

  


  
' _You must have seen it incorrectly, dad,' Rose replied._

  


  
' _I am certain I wasn't,' Siegfried said, staring at the pie puzzled, before shrugging and deciding he must have been mistaken after all. 'How is the new practice going?'_

  


  
' _Oh fine, Hugo has taken today's patients, so I could be here with Hermione…'_

  


  
_And while Rose and Siegfried had already moved on from the pie incident, Sally frowned and eyed Hermione, who was watching the chocolate pie in clear anticipation. 'Do you want a piece, Hermione?' Sally asked thoughtful._

  


  
' _Yes, granny,' Hermione said nodding her head fervently._

  


  
' _OK, let's get you a piece,' Sally said and started cutting the pie, 'so you don't like cherry pies?'_

  


  
' _No,' Hermione said, wrinkling her nose in disgust. 'But I like chocolate.'_

  


  
' _Me too,' Sally responded lightly, while handing Hermione her piece and taking her own too. 'You know I used to have a friend who hated the oatmeal that we got served at the orphanage and whenever he got a bowl of it…,' Sally whispered, leaning towards Hermione, '…it would somehow change into his favourite cereal.'_

  


  
_Little Hermione had already stuffed a large chunk of pie in her mouth, making her response quite incomprehensible._

  


  
' _So,' Sally added loosely, 'have you ever made something change before?'_

  


  
_Hermione's eyes widened and she looked at her grandmother doubtful._

  


  
' _I won't tell on you,' Sally whispered reassuringly. 'It will be our little secret.'_

  


  
_Hermione looked back at her mother, who was still busy discussing the start of the new dental practice with Siegfried, before she stood up on her chair and pulled her hands around her mouth to whisper the answer in her grandmother's ear. 'Mommy's meatloaf.'_

  


  
_Sally chuckled. 'I can imagine,' she said grinning, 'changing that is … really smart of you. And I love what you did to this pie, I think chocolate is much better than cherry too.'_

  


  
_Hermione smiled back proudly and continued eating her pie, while her grandmother stood up and walked towards her mother. 'I have something to tell you about Hermione later on this evening. It may be a bit shocking, but it is nothing to worry about.'_

  


  
…

  


  
She told them! They have always known? I can't believe it, but it explains their calm and acquiescent response to McGonagall when she came to my house that day to tell my parents I was a witch. They knew already. I am still musing about this, but other visuals become apparent in front of my eyes and I watch them curiously.

  


  
' _Don't let a bunch of morons get to you,' Sally said calmly against a crying Hermione. 'You are not a freak.'_

  


  
' _But I turned Elsie's hair purple and now they all hate me.'_

  


  
' _They don't hate you. They just don't understand and that scares them, dear,' Sally said wiping away Hermione's tears with a handkerchief. 'And it is not nice to change people's hair without their approval. They can't defend themselves against your powers. Although I am glad you stood up to a bunch of bullies.'_

  


  
' _I didn't do it on purpose,' Hermione shrieked indignant. 'I got angry. Nobody will ever understand.'_

  


  
' _Sure, there are a lot more people just like you.'_

  


  
' _But I have never seen any,' Hermione objected._

  


  
' _Once you go to that school you will.'_

  


  
' _What school?'_

  


  
' _The one Tom went to.'_

  


  
' _Can't I talk to him?'_

  


  
_Sally's eyes widened in shock. 'No, no, I don't think that is a good idea,' she muttered, shaking her head._

  


  
' _Why not?'_

  


  
' _Because Tom is… Well, I don't know where he is anyway. So it is not an option for you.'_

  


  
_Disappointed, Hermione pouted, while drying the plates her grandmother was handing her._

  


  
' _Come on dear, you are eleven years now. It won't be much longer before you will meet other witches and wizards and then … you can help me clean up this mess with a flick of your wrist.'_

  


  
' _Really?' Hermione said excitedly._

  


  
' _Yeah, really.'_

  


  
…

  


  
And I just want to die right here and now. Oh Merlin no, she said Tom? No, no, no. It's impossible. It is. It has to be. I know what he did to the people in that orphanage. It is just blatant impossible.

  


  
_Miss Granger, can I speak to you for a moment?'_

  


  
_Hermione looked up from her book in the library and stared straight into a pair of twinkling blue eyes. 'Yes, certainly Professor Dumbledore.'_

  


  
' _Ah, wonderful,' he said and pulled up a chair. 'I see you're the last one in here as usual.'_

  


  
_Hermione nodded. 'I have a Potions essay that needs writing.'_

  


  
' _Yes, of course… I just wanted to know how you were doing lately with … all this commotion about the Heir of Slytherin.'_

  


  
' _I am fine, Sir, and so is Harry,' Hermione responded unabashed._

  


  
' _There is nothing you need to tell me?' Dumbledore asked and she felt like she was being X-rayed by those blue eyes._

  


  
_Hermione frowned. 'No, I don't think so…' she started, 'Professor, you don't think it is Harry, do you? I mean he couldn't have done it. Ron and I were…' but she halted when Dumbledore held up his hand._

  


  
' _I know it is not Harry, Miss Granger. I just wanted to make sure nothing out of the ordinary has happened to you lately,' and again he gazed down at her over those half-moon glasses of his, making her feel like he was seeing straight through her._

  


  
_Hermione shook her head quietly, while hoping he wasn't referring to her nicking the ingredients from Snape's cupboard. He couldn't know she was brewing Polyjuice Potion in Myrtle's cubicle, could he?_

  


  
' _Very well,' Dumbledore said eventually._

  


  
_And she had the weirdest feeling he was, suddenly, somewhat more at ease when he got out of his chair._

  


  
' _Try to get some sleep as well, Miss Granger. I am sure Professor Snape will be more than happy to read the contents and length of the scroll you already got there,' he said chuckling._

  


  
…

  


  
I gasp at the end of this recollection. Professor Dumbledore used Leglimency on me! And I didn't notice… He must have… He didn't suspect Harry! He suspected me! But why? He knew it was Voldemort from the start. He knew that the true heir of Slytherin was him. The magical compatibility? Would he have known about this link between Voldemort and me? Could he have known and not told me about it? I notice I am beginning to get angry, but a later memory over clouds my chance to mesmerise on this.

  


  
' _I am sorry about this, Mr and Mrs Granger, but I believe it is vital for Hermione's safety to have her stay with her friends during the summer holidays at a location that will be unplottable to Lord Voldemort,' Dumbledore said calmly._

  


  
' _But what about my parents?' Hermione rebutted._

  


  
' _I'll set up several wards around this house to protect your parents and I can leave behind a Portkey that will transport them to the Burrow in case of an emergency. If that is alright with you both?' Dumbledore asked Mr and Mrs Granger, who both nodded affirmatively in response._

  


  
_Dumbledore rose from his chair. 'Wonderful, Hermione, if you are ready to go to the Burrow…'_

  


  
_He halted abruptly and picked up a photograph from the dresser._

  


  
' _Professor, what happened to your hand?' Hermione asked shocked._

  


  
' _Later, Hermione. Who is this?' Dumbledore asked quietly, holding up the frame._

  


  
' _Oh, that is an old picture of my mother in her teens,' Rose Granger responded. 'It was taken at the school she attended. This was right after she met my father for the first time. It's one of the few pictures she actually doesn't make a strange face in. That's why I kept this one after she died and had the man at the photo shop enhance it.'_

  


  
' _I understand,' Dumbledore said softly, 'she looks really happy in this photo. What was her name?'_

  


  
' _Sally, Sally Farnon-Woodburn.'_

  


  
_Dumbledore nodded, before placing the photograph back on the dresser and he glanced at Hermione thoughtfully. 'I'll set the wards and prepare an emergency Portkey for your parents. Can you retrieve your belongings, Hermione?'_

  


  
' _Certainly, Professor.' And she ran upstairs._

  


  
It's when I wake abruptly. Voldemort is already gone and I stare around slightly confused. Did my grandmother really know Tom Riddle and lived to tell about it? Dumbledore's reaction to her photograph was also peculiar. I never thought much about it at the time, because I had far more pressing matters on my mind, but now I see how strange it was that Dumbledore, suddenly, took an interest in my deceased, muggle grandmother. It was almost like he recognised her, but from where? And he didn't know her name, otherwise he wouldn't have asked. I do recall it was in the time when he researched Voldemort's past to look for the Horcruxes. And I know he went back to the orphanage to look for clues, but why would he have had such a strong response to my grandmother's picture? And then those wards around my grandparents' house? It's all rather peculiar and somewhat unnerving.

  


  
My mind still occupied with this I get up, change and have breakfast. It's incredibly quiet in here at the moment. I think Voldemort left. I check every chamber in his quarters to be certain, but it is totally vacant. I wonder where he went. How long will he be gone? If it is long enough, and if it occupies his mind thoroughly, then I may be able to pull this off. But it is risky and not only for me. I have to be certain he won't notice, but I also know this is going to drive me up the wall, if I don't figure out for certain whether he and my grandmother were living at the same orphanage. I mean I can guess… and it looks like it, but…

  


  
'Winky!'

  


  
With a crack the House-elf appears before me beaming. 'Yes, Mistress Hermione Granger.'

  


  
'Uh, Winky, there is this book on Everon Jewellery that I need…'

  


  
Immediately the joyous expression disappears and the House-elf begins shaking her head and offers me an alternative. 'Winky knows of a nice book on Goblin made tiaras. Winky can get that easily.'

  


  
I wave my hand through the air, halting the House-elf's speech. 'No, I need some information on the special powers of Everon Jewellery.'

  


  
Winky grumbles. 'Everon elves are not to be trusted, Mistress. They love to deceive and trick people. There is always something rotten about them and their so called powerful items; always. Goblin Jewellery is much more trustworthy to do what you need done.'

  


  
'So I've heard,' I say uncaring, scribbling the name of the book I need on a piece of paper.

  


  
I know this is a title that Voldemort may object to and so will Winky, because she has been ordered to only give me those books Voldemort deems appropriate. I hand her the paper, and feeling incredibly guilty, I watch how her ears and shoulders drop significantly. Oh, I am such a horrible person. And I don't even need the book anymore. Hell, I don't need to read anything on Everon anymore, since I already solved the mystery of Voldemort's changing eye colour yesterday. It's definitely the Amulet's doing. I suppose the old Yiddish saying is incredibly true, because the eyes truly are the mirror of the soul. And his bloodshot colour is a powerful indication on how much he mutilated it.

  


  
However, this is not something I want Voldemort to find out quickly, if he doesn't know it already. Because it will give him a clear indication on how much longer it will take the Amulet to heal his soul. It may also make him reconsider on healing it entirely, because from what I gather by looking at his eyes, his soul is healed far enough to create a couple of these horrible devices already. And he doesn't strike me as a patient man when it comes down to situations as these. So I have shoved my own curiosity about what happened to me to the side and decided I can always try to find out what happened on my own. It was obviously something Dark Arts related and I do have a ton of books on that subject at my disposal here.

  


  
'Master will not approve of this book. Winky will get Mistress the Goblin one instead,' the House-elf squeaks determined.

  


  
'No,' I say harshly. 'I need this one.'

  


  
I am so going to hell for this. I am a terrible, dreadful person. I know what the House-elf has been ordered to do now, but I need to find out where he is and I need him to still think I am researching the mystery. Winky is now eyeing the piece of paper in her hand with dread, before she Disapparates House-elf-style. I hope he is in a good mood and doesn't hurt the poor elf for this. Keeping my fingers crossed, I wait.

  


  
'Crack.'

  


  
Winky reappears, and to my utter astonishment, she hands me the book I requested. Whoa! Voldemort must be desperate to find out why his eyes are shifting in colour; otherwise he would have never granted me access to this book. I am staring at it thoroughly pleased that I have it and I know I better read it fast before he realises what he did and comes back on this decision.

  


  
'Does Mistress require anything else from Winky?' she asks.

  


  
'The Dark Lord didn't hurt you, did he?' I ask concerned.

  


  
'No, Master was happy when Winky arrived. Master was torturing the traitorous Smiths, who tried to kill him. So Master had no time to spend on Winky,' Winky squeaks happily.

  


  
That went easier than I expected. I was certain in advance that it would take me some doing to retrieve this information from Winky. I remember clearly how she kept her mouth shut about Barty Crouch's secret, but I suppose she doesn't consider Voldemort torturing someone a secret action. I guess she is right about that.

  


  
'Thank you Winky,' I reply, dismissing her.

  


  
While Winky leaves, I look at the book for a second, but my curiosity about my grandmother and Voldemort weighs heavier on my mind at the moment. So I lay it on the table. I am only going to be gone for a short period. I'm just going to take a little look. I'll be back shortly. No one will notice. I have to be certain.

  


  
'Kreacher!'

  


  
'Crack.'

  


  
'What does Mistress Hermione Granger, Master Harry Potter's friend, require from Kreacher?' he asks in his bullfrog voice.

  


  
'Kreacher, I want you to understand that you don't need to do this. It is not an order. I do not own you, and what I am about to ask, can be life threatening to you if we get caught by the Dark Lord.'

  


  
Kreacher smiles broadly and nods. 'Kreacher will take request under consideration,' he replies courteous.

  


  
'I need someone to give me a lift out of this castle to the street in front of my grandparents' house.'

  


  
Kreacher nods and immediately stretches out his hand for me to take it. He can't possibly have considered the threat to him in that brief moment, so I don't accept it.

  


  
'If something goes wrong I want you to Obliviate my memory of your assistance, Kreacher. And I want you to find some place safe to…'

  


  
'Kreacher can take care of himself, Mistress,' he interrupts me cheerful.

  


  
Even more adamant, he gestures firmly with his hand for me to take it and I do. I have got to say that I am somewhat surprised at the fact that House-elf Apparation feels rather different than Wizarding Apparation. The effects aren't nearly so squeezing and uncomfortable. It's more a soft pricking sensation that travels through your body, like how you feel when a limb goes to sleep and then … it is almost as if you no longer exist for a moment, before reappearing at the place you want to go to.

  


  
We arrive on the sidewalk in front of the garden gates. Fortunately, the former Farnon Estate is located in a secluded area, so no one notices us arriving and being there. In the distance I see the vacant building that used to house a part of my family. I've spent a significant amount of time of my early childhood years here and the memory makes me smile for a moment. However, my parents sold the 'costly in maintenance' estate, after both Sally and Siegfried had passed away and it no longer is the property of my family. I walk to the gates that have a huge real estate's board on it with a telephone number that prospected buyers can dial, but I am not interested in obtaining the property.

  


  
'This place knows magic,' Kreacher states surprised. 'Is Mistress not born from muggles?'

  


  
'I am, but someone else paid this place a visit and I need to know for certain whom that was. Though, it may take me awhile to activate these wards with my magic being suppressed and all by Vo… the Dark Lord,' I answer, correcting myself on remembering Kreacher's fear of the name.

  


  
'Kreacher can fix that easily…' and he steps beside me.

  


  
'No!' I scream and grab his arms just in time.

  


  
Surprised, Kreacher looks at me.

  


  
'Trust me, Kreacher,' I say worried for his safety. 'If I am right about who created these wards, then you do not want to be attacked by them. I, on the other hand, should be all right.' And I cross my fingers behind my back, hoping I am right about the latter. After all, I have entered and exited this place for years without problems with these wards.

  


  
'Can Kreacher help Mistress in any other way?'

  


  
'Just make sure we are not seen or disturbed by others.'

  


  
Kreacher nods and turns to the street. I feel his magic fly through the air around us and it has the distinct vibration of an Invisibility Charm, but I do not linger on that. I sit down, cross my legs, rest my hands on my knees, palms facing upward, and start to meditate. If it really was Voldemort who built these wards, then I should be able to draw on the magic in them. If it wasn't him, well … I'll cross that bridge when I get there. Quickly, I close my eyes; clear my mind of thoughts, feelings and emotions, and concentrate on my environment mentally as Yoda thought me to do. I raise my hands in the air and claim the magic nearby. Nothing happens.

  


  
I try again and again and again. I am about to give up and reconsider Kreacher's offer when I feel something shift nearby. It's like it is there and yet it isn't. I call for it. Command it to come to me. I concentrate at all my might when Kreacher shrieks in terror and powerful bolts of electricity strike into my hands. Sparks fly all around me and I hold my palms to the sky to allow the magic to be absorbed into my body, so it can identify me.

  


  
'Recognise me, recognise me,' I think over and over again, while it surges through my body.

  


  
It's incredibly violent magic and I realise if it considers me a threat to this household, then I am going to die in an utterly vile manner. Come on, come on, recognise me, damn it. You've let me pass a million times. Come on. Oh, this is not good. It is taking too long. I need to do something now or I am done for. And I remember everything I ever read about creating magical wards. I bless my lucky stars for having read several Dark Arts Volumes already, because there are so many ways to create wards, but only a few possess this kind of power. I assess the way the magic flies through me. Two choices remain and only one I deem is viable with him. It's time to get on the offensive here.

  


  
'Take cover!' I shout to Kreacher.

  


  
I concentrate and shift the magic that is already inside of me. I am making it my own, knowing full well that this will be considered an attack on the estate. Opening my eyes I see the entire ward is now thundering towards me, as I expected and counted on. I jump to my feet, focus on the Force of it, and when it is closest to me, I release the magic inside of me. The two clash violently and I am having a hard time not getting blast to pieces by it. The air around me begins to cackle severely, and my hair and robes are reacting to the static environment by whirling around my body. Kreacher shrieks fearful, and from the peripheral vision of my eyes, I see he is jumping in the dry ledge for more cover and arrives there safely. So I focus on the task at hand, trying to shift the entire magic of this ward into my own. I battle with it, but it won't shift. It's too powerful. I am done for. What was I thinking? I can't do this alone!

  


  
' _Magic flows all around us. This is not about spells, charms, or anything like it. This magic is The Force of Nature and it can guide you on your path. It will help to ground you and keep your balance in times of despair. This is the most powerful way to use magic.'_

  


  
Yoda's words ring through my mind. Magic flows all around us. Magic is everywhere. You just need to see it. I just need to see it! I can get help!

  


  
So I concentrate on the trees, the earth, the animals, the flowers, the plants, the creatures and people nearby; I concentrate on everything beside the violent, dark magic that is attacking me. And I ask for help, for love to guide me through this. After all, love is the origin of magic; the most powerful form there is. The dark magic is only inches away from swallowing me whole when a bright light flies around me and I feel the force, the power of it, enter my body.

  


  
'My turn,' I mutter satisfied and I release it with a vengeance.

  


  
My eyes widen when I witness how it shreds Voldemort's wards to pieces in an instance. A second later all that remains of this adventure is a small breeze that brushes my body softly. Astonished, my mouth falls slightly ajar. I can't believe I just did that; I accomplished _that_. I can do a little dance, now. I've never been able to do this without Yoda's guidance before. Never! Oh my god, oh my god, I did it!

  


  
'Is Mistress all right?' Kreacher asks whispering.

  


  
'I did it!' I shout and I hug Kreacher. 'On my own!'

  


  
I lift the little elf and twirl him around. I feel so incredibly happy. I've never been happier before in my life.

  


  
'Mistress, you're choking me,' Kreacher utters stifling.

  


  
'Oh, sorry,' I say apologetic and I place him back on the ground, but the little elf is eyeing me beaming.

  


  
'Mistress is powerful witch. More powerful than any witch Kreacher ever met. No other witch has ever succeeded in drawing on and using Kreacher's Elf magic.'

  


  
I used Elf magic too? Really? I hadn't noticed. I shrug humbly at the compliment, but I still feel very pleased with myself. Because I kicked his arse. HA! And I did it without him having to release his hold over my magic. I did it without my magic! I stick out my tongue towards the now nonexistent ward Voldemort raised...

  


  
Oh my… it was him that raised the ward around my grandparents' place. I recognised his magic when it flew through my body. And from the looks of things he did a thoroughly serious job of it. I doubt anyone could have entered this place with bad intentions. My very happy mood is now dropping below freezing point. He protected my grandparents. Why? Did they know that he did this? Did my grandmother know? And what did she tell my parents? She never said his full name to me. I only remember that one time when she talked about a Tom, but she could have been a lot more upfront about it to my mother and father.

  


  
And I told them about Lord Voldemort! Did I drop the name Tom Riddle to them? I rack my brain to remember everything I told them, but it is so much and I can't be certain. I recall telling them how brave Harry was when he defeated the Basilisk and saved Ginny from Voldemort. No, I don't think I mentioned his real name to my parents back then. It was when I still called him You-Know-Who and I bite my lip. No, now I am pretty certain I always said You-Know-Who, until after that DA-meeting. And I was barely home to see my parents after my fifth year. I sigh relieved, because, frankly, if I am to find out that my parents have lied all those years, it will be devastating to me.

  


  
Would Grandma Sally have known? She died a month before I went to Hogwarts, so I never got to share my adventures with her. But if she hadn't died, would she have recognised the name Lord Voldemort? Would she have known him to be the same person as Tom Riddle; the boy she knew at the orphanage? Did she somehow support him? I find the latter hard to believe. I don't see Tom Riddle wanting the support of a muggle. And she was such a kind and caring person. I remember how she always told me not to abuse my powers. How she lectured me that with power comes responsibility. Oh, she knew Tom Riddle alright. Damn, I need some answers here, but the only person left to ask about this, is the one person I can't trust not to lie to me. I need to investigate more.

  


  
'Let's go back to Hogwarts,' I say quietly to Kreacher and hold out my hand.

  


  
He Apparates us back to the study and I sink down on the couch, contemplating on this.

  


  
'Is Mistress Hermione alright?' Kreacher asks concerned.

  


  
I smile at the scruffy little House-elf and nod. 'You, Kreacher, are one of the bravest persons, I have ever met,' I say complimentary.

  


  
He beams at me with pleasure. 'Does Kreacher need to do anything else for Mistress?'

  


  
I nod. 'Modify my memory so it will appear I travelled alone. I don't want Vo… You-Know-Who to find out in my mind that you were involved in this. And I may need to divulge the fact that I've been there in the future.'

  


  
Kreacher nods and steps in front of me.

  


  
'No, wait!' I shout, just in a nick of time. 'One more thing. Are the Hogwarts' student records still being kept in the archive room connected to the Headmaster's Office?'

  


  
'Yes, does Kreacher need to get a file for Mistress?'

  


  
'No, I better do the nicking myself this time around,' I state slowly. 'Now, you can go ahead.'

  


  
It's when Kreacher does, what I know he must have done quite adequately before; he alters my memory of the events that transpired. When he is done, I stare slightly confused at the House-elf.

  


  
'Anything I can do for you, Kreacher?' I ask.

  


  
'Mistress needed Kreacher to retrieve a student file, but Mistress has not informed Kreacher which one yet.'

  


  
I frown. A student file? Oh yeah, now I remember … I need to know more about the past, about the events that transpired before my birth.

  


  
'Tom Marvolo Riddle,' I say hesitatingly.

  


  
Do I really want Kreacher to get this file? I shake my head. No, that is too dangerous. 'Kreacher, wait! I better steal this file from the Headmaster's Office myself. I don't want you to be involved in this one. It's too dangerous.'

  


  
'Mistress cannot retrieve it. We just agreed on that a moment ago. Student files are locked far away in the dungeons of the castle now and the security is very high there. Kreacher will get it. He needs to clean the room,' the House-elf says, lying without my knowledge.

  


  
'Oh, okay,' I say disappointed and he hurries away.

  


  
I've rather not involved the brave little elf, but he is right. I will never make it to the dungeons without being seen. And I need that file. I need more information. Why had Dumbledore not shown us, I mean Harry, that file before? He wanted Harry to understand Voldemort. I remember our discussion after Harry's first private lesson with Dumbledore very clearly.

  


  
' _Wow, scary thought, the boy You-Know-Who,' said Ron. 'But I still don't get why Dumbledore's showing you all this. I mean, it's really interesting and everything, but what's the point?'_

  


  
' _Dunno,' said Harry. 'But he says it's all important and it'll help me survive.'_

  


  
' _I think it's fascinating,' I replied. 'It makes absolute sense to know as much about Voldemort as possible. How else will you find out his weaknesses?'_

  


  
'How else will you find out his weaknesses? Plural, because he has so many of them … brilliant remark, Granger,' I think mockingly.

  


  
'Crack.'

  


  
Baffled, I look at the huge green map Kreacher is holding in his hand. On the cover in silver letters is written 'Tom Marvolo Riddle, 1938-1945'. Oh, this is not good. I thought the student files would be about the size of something along the line of a couple of pages. Not something that resembles the size of a phone-book. I can never hide this from Voldemort.

  


  
'If only I could Transfigure it to appear as another, preferably dull, book, I may get away with it, but I need my magic to do so,' I think out loud.

  


  
'Mistress can use Kreacher's magic,' he offers.

  


  
'I can?' I ask confused. 'I've never heard of a human using Elf magic before.'

  


  
'Morgan Le Fay did and I can tell, you can do it too,' Kreacher says certain.

  


  
'I am no Morgan Le Fay,' I mutter gravely disturbed.

  


  
'Just try it, I know it will work,' Kreacher states.

  


  
So I do, and surprisingly, he is right. I Transfigure Voldemort's student file into a seemingly innocent, simple Dark Arts book. One I am certain he will never pick up to read again, because the theory in it is too plain simple for him. However, when I place the two books next to each other to compare them, the file still remains slightly bigger than the original book.

  


  
'He has to see them together, Mistress Hermione. Otherwise he will never notice,' Kreacher says reassuringly.

  


  
'I suppose,' I reply, while tucking the original book behind several others. 'Are all files this big?'

  


  
'Some are, some aren't,' Kreacher replies. 'Want to see yours? I believe it is even bigger.'

  


  
'No, thank you,' I reply appalled. 'I am going to have a hard time hiding this one and… Wait a second, how come you know the size of my student file so precisely?'

  


  
'The Dark Lord had it on his desk for quite some time,' Kreacher answers.

  


  
'Oh, of course,' I say tiresome. The man definitely needs a hobby.

  


  
It's when a terrible idea comes to mind. Just exactly what is listed in these files about family members? I turn the pages to head for the personal data. It lists a date of birth and the name of the mother and father. However I thank Merlin, because there isn't a box to add the grandparents too. However, I do notice that Dumbledore in his own script has added an entire lineage on the blank side of the page going back all the way to the Peverell brothers and Salazar Slytherin in Riddle's file. Oh no… what if he added something to my file as well?

  


  
'Kreacher? Can you check to see whether the name Sally Woodburn or Sally Farnon-Woodburn is mentioned somewhere in my file? She was my grandmother.'

  


  
'Easy,' replies the House-elf and it doesn't take him long.

  


  
I raise my eyebrows in surprise and Kreacher laughs. 'I used Elf magic to check, but the name isn't in there. However, it may have been, because from the looks of it Professor Dumbledore removed several pages from your file.'

  


  
'He removed pages from my file?' I ask puzzled. 'How do you know it was him?'

  


  
'His magic has a tremendously powerful signature. If you felt it once, you will recognise it again anywhere, and he used a lot of it on my Master's house and me,' Kreacher says and he shivers briefly.

  


  
I remember that Dumbledore questioned Kreacher about Sirius's departure and I don't enquire any further. It couldn't have been pleasant for the elf. Anyway, even though I am curious what is on the pages Dumbledore felt the need to remove, I am glad the name isn't in there for Voldemort to tread upon. But it still does leave me in the dark as to whether or not he knows.

  


  
'You better leave now, before Voldemort…'

  


  
Kreacher shrieks in fear.

  


  
'Sorry, before You-Know-Who will return. What will we put in my brain as to how I got this?'

  


  
Kreacher grins deviously. 'Shall I have Amycus Carrow bring it to you?'

  


  
I snort and he snickers rather vicious.

  


  
'I think the Dark Lord will see in Amycus's mind that he didn't,' I say sadly. Well, it was a nice and delightful idea.

  


  
'Not if I get to Amycus too,' Kreacher says smirking.

  


  
My jaw drops in amazement. 'You can do that?'

  


  
Kreacher nods several times in affirmation. 'If you can prevent the Dark Lord from finding this before tomorrow morning, I will modify Carrow's memory while he sleeps.'

  


  
'I love it,' I say enthusiastic as I look at the clock. 'I have no time to read his file now anyway. Vo… You-Know-Who will expect me to have read this Everon book, so I better hurry and read some pages just in case he feels like checking on what I've been doing while he was gone. Let's try it.'

  


  
Kreacher modifies my memory and leaves afterwards, before I have a chance to detect him again.

  


  
I, quickly, hide the file between the other books. I still can't believe Carrow was so stupid to fall for my demand and the feeble excuse I gave him for needing it. But I suppose he doesn't know who Tom Riddle really is. I snicker softly. If Voldemort finds out that he gave me this, he is a dead man.

  


  
I pick up the book from Everon regarding their jewellery and my eyes fall briefly on The Art of Potions. I wrinkle my nose. Every other book about Everon I read was incredibly dry and mind-numbing to read and I haven't finished the Potions book yet. And it is undoubtedly far more interesting than this one, but I asked for it and now I must suffer the consequences and read this book. Who knows, maybe I'll discover something about the Amulet of Aine that I don't already know. I sigh, make myself comfortable on the couch and start reading. To my surprise the writing draws my attention immediately and the book's theory on Elf Jewellery is quite interesting. I don't even notice how much the stone beneath my shirt is glowing, while I read. I am moving through this book incredibly fast and I feel flushed with excitement.

  


  
So that's how Maglor was planning to find the Amulet for Voldemort. Elves always create a counter stone to the jewel they make. It is like black and white; yin and yang. Maglor used the counter stone to scry for the Amulet of Aine. I am surprised they still have it. According to the legend, the Queen of the Elves created this Amulet. So she had to be the one to make the counter stone and she lived a lot of centuries ago. No one even remembers exactly when from what I recall after reading the book on the history of Everon. I shrug and read on. It's when I read that the powers of the jewel are linked to the blood of the Elf, who created it, that I halt in shock. But that means only her blood can activate it… and Maglor scry-ed with the counter stone. I gulp in shock. Wow, surprise after surprise with that Elf. I wonder how many more secrets he has kept hidden from me.

  


  
Entranced and fascinated, I read on, until a dark shadow falls over me and I look up at the same time that Voldemort sits down beside my legs, which I placed on the couch lazily. I haven't even noticed before, that it had already turned dark outside. I've even forgotten to eat lunch and dinner. Fortunately, I am not that hungry anyway. He, on the other hand, looks rather hungry at the moment, but somehow I don't think it is for food.

  


  
'Hello dear,' he says suavely. 'Enjoying your book?'

  


  
He tilts his head to see what I am reading. But I don't think he is actually trying very hard, because he looks back at me very quickly. And I have seen that glint in his eyes before. Though, I am somewhat more disturbed with how dark his pupils have already become. Only what normally would be the white of someone's eyes is still bloodshed, but the flickering between colours in his pupils seems completely over. They are as black as his soul is dark. The saying about the eyes and the soul truly is remarkably accurate. I realise he staring at me, waiting for an answer to his question, so I reply.

  


  
'It's quite interesting,' I respond blankly.

  


  
'I'm sure I can provide you with something a lot more entertaining,' he says deviously.

  


  
And I can see where this is going in his eyes, even before he teases my body with magic and starts to lean in to kiss me. I tilt my head. I am not really in the mood for this, because I actually want to finish reading the book, but maybe we can do this quickly. Our tongues clash and I move my arms around his neck, while his hands are moving all over my body. I feel how the book falls between the couch's back and my leg. Perhaps, I can draw a bit of magic from him to levitate the book? I really need to read on. I really do. So I try and since he is rather preoccupied with moulding my breasts with his hands, he doesn't notice. I take a hold of his head and keep on kissing him, while the book hovers behind him and I continue reading. Hmmm… this is actually a nice way to read. I should have tried this before. It would have made my library time during my Hogwarts' days much more fun.

  


  
His hands are moving down to my hips and what I feared happens. He sends a more forceful burst of our magic into me. I moan in his mouth, because by Godric that feels so incredibly good. And he doesn't stop there. I can practically sense his hunger, his desire to be with me intimately and he lays every bit of considerable power he has into his magic before sending it through my body. Oh, now I can't concentrate on my reading anymore.

  


  
'Ooohhh,' I moan deeply.

  


  
Fuck, fuck, fuck… I need to concentrate, so I can read this page. I can't even begin to understand why I feel so obsessive about reading it, but I just feel I have to finish this book. I have to. I can feel my body beginning to adjust at his command, while his tongue goes through a thorough examination of my mouth. And despite the obvious distraction I am still able to flip a page; too loudly…

  


  
Voldemort immediately pulls away from my mouth and I feel my cheeks flush in embarrassment as his eyes dart to his right where the book hovers in midair. Let me just repeat what I thought before rather crudely. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  


  
'It's a really interesting book,' I whisper apologetic, knowing it won't help an ounce.

  


  
'More interesting than me?' he asks slowly, gazing into my eyes threatening, but there is also something else there that I can't quite comprehend.

  


  
However, I am not stupid enough to respond to that question and he waves his hand at the book, thrusting it out of the way.

  


  
'So…,' he says in a threatening tone of voice, but I see the amusement dart through his dark eyes, and his lips are hovering teasingly within an inch of mine. Man, did that just turn him on even more? I suppose Winky wasn't kidding when she said he was in a good mood.

  


  
'Now that I have your full attention, Hermione, I think I may need to punish you for this insulting behaviour of yours.'

  


  
'Ehhmmm… what is that suppose to mean?' I think slightly concerned now, but I shriek in surprise when he swiftly binds my wrists together and tosses me over his shoulder in a single wave of his hand.

  


  
'Yes, you definitely need to be punished,' Voldemort smoothly adds, and I feel him patting on my behind anticipatory, as he walks out of the study.

  


  
Oh dear, I just know I am going to have another problem with sitting normally tomorrow, but why the hell does that turn me on so much?

  


* * *

  


  
When I wake the next morning, Lord Voldemort is already gone. He is probably off to torture those poor Smiths once more, so he can get all horny and torment me afterwards. Not that the sex isn't great. No, it actually is terrific, but the aftermath for me is not particularly pleasant, because my body feels like it's been ripped to shreds and run over by a freight train. I know it is due to the fact that he is suppressing my magic and I realise if I change sides that I will not have this problem anymore, but that knowledge is not very helpful at the moment. It's probably one of his despicable schemes to get me to fold. So I crawl out of bed and stagger into the bathroom to take a nice hot bath. And as I lower myself into the nice, hot, bubbling, lavender-smelling water of the tub, I relax a bit more.

  


  
After I'm done I feel somewhat better, though a part of me wishes to remain in this bathtub forever. But I have important reading to do and I better do it, while he is still out there instead of in here. I walk back into the bedroom brushing my hair when my eyes fall on my nightstand. A small vial of blue liquid is standing there very visible. I walk over and uncork the Restorative Potion immediately. I can't believe I was so tired and drowsy when I woke that I missed that. I quickly down the Potion entirely. And move to the vanity to brush my hair, but when I look in the mirror I blink in shock. Since when are my eyes dark brown?

  


  
I lean forward to check more closely and I am getting terribly worried. My eyes are getting darker! And I just figured out not so long ago what that means… I shake my head. This can't be. No. I used the Light Force of magic yesterday in a manner that I've never been able to do before.

  


  
' _But you used the Dark Arts to determine the state of the wards and you used the Light Magic that was granted to you in a vengeful manner,' a little voice inside my head tells me._

  


  
'No one got hurt; it was just a bleeding ward not a person,' I retort to myself.

  


  
' _Already finding excuses for your actions, for yourself? Trying to justify it, like he does?'_

  


  
'Oh shut up,' I tell myself loudly and irritated.

  


  
And I leave the bedroom to have breakfast and read. Voldemort is indeed gone again, so I take his file and start reading. I am surprised to see the majority of it is in Dumbledore's script, since it was Armando Dippet who was Headmaster in Riddle's schooldays. But I recall that Dumbledore was Deputy Headmaster and that he probably was responsible for the paperwork like McGonagall was in my days. And it is incredibly handy, because, unlike the others who wrote in this file, Dumbledore dated his inputs. This makes it easy for me to determine what he wrote during Tom Riddle's schooldays and what he added later on.

  


  
After reading another glowing report from one of the teachers on the brilliant and marvellous Slytherin, I get the distinct need to vomit. For crying out loud, how stupid were they? But it becomes very, _very_ obvious Professor Dumbledore was the only one who ever saw through him. Well, and maybe the students… I remember how many things I knew from other students that the teachers never acknowledged or knew about. And, come on, those grades can't possibly be real? This has to be a misprint. Annoyed, I glare at the Arithmancy O.W.L. result that lies in front of me on the next page. How can anyone get a score of one-hundred-and-eighty-nine percent? That is an Impossible Arithmancy Equation on its own. It probably has to be eighty-nine percent. That number isn't a one. It's just a smut on the paper or someone accidentally made a scratch with their quill. Yes, that is much more logical. One-hundred-eighty-nine percent; pffttt… never.

  


  
I flip to the next page and stare at the Charms score. It seems that one is a repeated error. Yes, it is also on the Potion's result. I consider it to be very sloppy on Dumbledore's end, that he has not corrected it; very sloppy indeed. I quickly flip another leave and relieved, I see a score of seventy-five percent. However, when I see the subject in question, I snort loudly. Divination? He took Divination? Oh, that is so disappointing. I thought he was supposed to be clever. I roar with laughter. Seventy-five percent? Surely, Tom Riddle should have been able to manufacture a couple of ridiculous lies to satisfy his teacher.

  


  
'Beware of the Inner Eye from Lord Voldemort!' I mockingly snort.

  


  
Laughing, I continue to look at the next page and I read: 'O.W.L. score and evaluation of subject: _Defence Against the Dark Arts._ Student name: _Tom Marvolo Riddle._ Born: _London, 31_ _st_ _December 1926._ Total score: _295_ percent.' And my jaw drops several inches. That is almost three-hundred percent! And I so adored my little smut and repeated error theory. Can I just be honest here and say I really, really hate Tom Marvolo Riddle? Those scores are just totally inhuman, totally. Besides what is the point in giving scores higher than one-hundred percent anyway? My eyes widen when I realise what I just thought and a memory makes me want to hide in shame for my envious comment.

  


  
' _I've scored one-hundred-and-thirty!' Hermione shouted. 'What did you get for Transfiguration, Ron?'_

  


  
_Quickly, a piece of paper gets muffled away. 'I passed,' Ron replied evenly. 'Really,' he added with more emphasis after seeing Hermione's suspicious glances to his bag where he planted the evidence in._

  


  
' _Then, why do you feel the need to hide it?'_

  


  
' _Because all that matters is that I can go home for vacation, and not worry about grades and homework for an entire summer.'_

  


  
' _But we have loads of homework!' Hermione cried out indignant. 'And you have that extra Potions essay to write.'_

  


  
_Ron growled. 'I know where Snape can put his …'_

  


  
' _Ronald!' Hermione interrupted admonitory._

  


  
' _Really, Hermione, what does my score matter? I passed. I don't understand it anyway, if a score of one-hundred percent is supposed to be perfect, then why do they rate above that?'_

  


  
' _Because people might want to excel beyond the mediocre? Because you might want to show you can think of something else beside the standard responses to a question? Oh, you are hopeless, Ron Weasley.'_

  


  
I start chuckling loudly. After a while I calm down and my envious Ron Weasley episode is over. So I start reading the comments of the examiner and the addition of the DADA-professor. I have to admit I'm kind of curious to what they will have written down on Lord Voldemort's skills concerning Defence. I snicker.

  


  
Additional remarks O.W.L. Examiner: _Professor Tofty_

  


  
_Fastest skill with a wand I've ever seen. Very creative and unconventional solutions to Dark Arts problems, which are by far more effective than standard methods. Vanquished Boggart before it was able to take form, hereby disabling the Boggart's one true weapon before deployment. Powerful, corporeal Patronus casting that lasted in the classroom, long after the exams were finished. Control over self during danger is far beyond average. Wandskill doesn't diminish during duel, but improves … especially when opponent is more challenging. Though, I doubt a true challenge was administered today. Would love to see him duel against someone he would require to use his true skill against. Able to cast spells, counter-curses, jinxes and hexes far beyond N.E.W.T. level. Dark Creature knowledge far beyond average and has not broken a sweat in containing one. Parselmouth. Scored better than the required answer on every question; henceforth above score. Recommend keeping track of his career for the Ministry of Magic; possible research position in the Department of Mysteries or Auror._

  


  
Okay, now I beg to differ. Auror. I snort. And I move on, because I am kind of curious about the comments of his Professor. After all, you think that a DADA-professor should be able to pick out the dark wizards and witches in her classroom.

  


  
Additional remarks Hogwarts' DADA-teacher: _Professor Galatea Merrythought_

  


  
_Tom has won the Annual Duel, which is considered one of the more practical examination of true DADA-skill, five times in a row. There is no doubt in my mind that he could take on the students that are his seniors in age in a heartbeat. However, rules do not allow me to take that to the test. However, I have personally felt the force that lingers behind his spells and I believe he has never been truly tested in my classroom. I have the distinct impression he is holding back in order not to hurt another. Weakness during duelling: gets sloppy when opponents are clearly weaker magically. Has proven his worth in DADA by uncovering and handling a dangerous Dark Arts situation in reality, and has received an award for "Special Services to Hogwarts" for it. Has also shown great compassion and consideration by keeping the knowledge of the true events to himself._

  


  
Oh, can I puke now? Holding back so he won't hurt another? Yeah, I think the following is more likely: holding back so his true allegiance to the Dark Arts won't be known. And then, compassion? Consideration? Riddle? The bastard rats out Hagrid for something he did and he gets an extra commendation for it on his O.W.L. result? Of course, he kept the true events of the Heir of Slytherin to himself. Hello! Slytherin… snakes… Parselmouth… Heir of Slytherin… How much does it takes to add up one and one, and find out two is the result? I shake my head in clear disbelief over this much stupidity. Not a single word of doubt. Not a single question of character. Surely, someone, who taught DADA to Lord Voldemort for five bleeding years, should have noticed something was off. Those are not exactly lessons where you can hide your personality easily in. There must have been hints, clues, _'accidents'_ … I growl. And decide to move on, because these stupid teachers are beginning to annoy me severely.

  


  
Transfiguration is next and I don't even look at the ridiculously large scores anymore, but go straight to the teacher's remarks, because I see Dumbledore took the liberty to write down something.

  


  
Additional remarks Hogwarts' Transfiguration Teacher: _Professor Dumbledore (24_ _th_ _June 1943)_

  


  
_Though Mr Riddle has the highest test score on this subject ever, and shows a remarkable and unprecedented adaptation in the skill of Transfiguration, he often applies short cuts that are not risk free or allowed by the current and thoroughly tested Ministerial Standards of Transfiguration. Mr Riddle has shown severe disdain towards security measures set in place to prevent harm to occur to others and himself. It is therefore that I do not recommend Mr Riddle for any position in the Department of Mysteries that concern Transfiguration, which is the only subject I can advise upon, but it is thoroughly my belief that this young man will be a considerable risk to his co-workers should he be allowed to work in such a knowledgeable environment._

  


  
Ouch.

  


  
I especially think the remark about his disobedience towards the Ministerial Guidelines would have been deadly for any career in the Ministry and that probably was Dumbledore's goal when he wrote it down, because I am pretty certain Dumbledore did not obey Ministerial Regulations all the time himself. Also deadly is the 'which is the only subject I can advise upon'. It practically guarantees that anyone interested in hiring Tom Riddle, for anything else but Transfiguration, would have still contacted Albus Dumbledore to find out what he meant by it and why he wrote such a rotten, piece of shit evaluation on a student who scored far above average in every test subject.

  


  
I feel this little prickle of annoyance towards Dumbledore about this evaluation, even though I know Riddle already killed Myrtle and framed another for it at this point. And he is going to spend his summer holiday killing three people and doing Merlin knows what else. And Dumbledore is right, but… It is just so bloody manipulative and secretive. He hasn't said a word in there that Riddle could have used against him. He stayed strictly within the confinements of what he can prove, so Tom couldn't state he is saying these things, because he is biased to him. Because let's face it, when someone of Dumbledore's standing writes something like this down… Well, you are pretty much done for career wise.

  


  
I stretch my arms above my head and yawn, before looking at the clock. It's getting late. I better place this book back on the shelf. I have surrounded myself with other books just in case Voldemort returns earlier than I expect and I have to hide this close by. But so far I've been in the clear, so I place it back and continue in that Everon Jewellery book. I actually don't feel like reading anything on Everon anymore, but it's a bit early for dinner, so I open it and start reading. It immediately draws me back in.

  


  
'Enjoying your book?' Voldemort says deviously.

  


  
I nod back grinning. I can't believe how lucky I am. I just start reading in something else and he is back. But then I see the clock on the wall and it is already a whole hour later. Oh, I suppose I misjudged time. It really flies when you're having fun and this is a very interesting book to read.

  


  
'Come, we're going to eat,' Voldemort orders.

  


  
I feel more like reading. But I do need to eat and I place the book away, even though a part of me is screaming to continue reading. Subconsciously, it tells me this book somehow contains important information for my situation.

  


  
The next couple of days pass rather uneventful. I read as much on Voldemort's past as I can and I now know why Dumbledore found the picture of my grandmother in our living room so interesting. There are actual photographs in this file from the children in the orphanage. There is a little text in the by-line from Dumbledore on where and when he found these pictures. And I have no trouble picking out Tom Riddle in them and that is not only due to Ginny and Harry's descriptions, but also thanks to his posture and attitude in them. They're muggle photographs, so no one is moving. But I think if they were magical pictures, we wouldn't see Tom in the group's annual picture at all, because he is always positioned as far away from the others as possible; standing solo. And he looks incredibly annoyed for having to be there.

  


  
That is until my grandmother appears in there. From the looks of the picture she pretty much pulled him on his arm and held on to it, so he couldn't take his usual stand away from everyone else. I am so sorry this isn't a moving picture. It would probably have been incredibly entertaining to see a struggling Tom trying to get out of the grasp she has on his arm. Because I have no doubt that is exactly what I am looking at. I snicker at the thought that my grandmother forced Lord Voldemort Junior to do anything. But I do notice the annoyance, he demonstrated in the other pictures, is absent on his face in this one.

  


  
It's when Voldemort Apparates back into the study and I have no time to get rid of his file anymore. Not that it matters that much, because I am looking at the last pages of it. However, it seems prudent not to be found snickering with it. So I hold my breath and pretend to be reading, while he slouches down into the chair behind his desk. I notice he is staring into thin air with a gratified expression on his face. He is definitely enjoying something, whatever horrible thing it is. Maybe he finally killed Achilles Smith, the poor man.

  


  
I flip another page and look at the photograph rather shocked. It is my grandmother and she is sitting on a bench in some garden, while Tom is standing with one foot on the bench, leaning forward towards her ear and he is obviously sharing something funny, because she is laughing. OK, this is just getting a bit too creepy for my taste. And I flip the leave and look at the last two pages which have magical photographs from Hogwarts in them. You can definitely tell he enjoyed being there much more than he did in the orphanage pictures.

  


  
Poor Ginny, I believe her second year of Hogwarts was even harder than her first. She had unbelievable nightmares and we talked about everything that happened to her for hours at night, because nobody else would. Stupid wizards and witches know absolutely nothing about human psychology. Have you been possessed by the most evil wizard of all time as an eleven year old? Well, all you need is a large, steaming mug of hot chocolate and you'll be fine. We will never, ever talk to you again about what you went through. We will just pretend it never happened. I shake my head briefly. Fortunately, I had the Time Turner that year, so I never had to turn Ginny down when she was upset and crying, and needed someone to talk to.

  


  
The events with his journal tainted Ginny more than anyone else ever knew. It took me a long time before she even confided some of the things she felt ashamed of to me. Ginny was feeling incredibly lost and alone after the journal's soul had been destroyed. And a large part of her missed Tom severely, even though she knew now who he was and what he had done to her. Somewhere down the line I think Ginny fell in love with the diary and she was mourning the loss with me, because nobody else would have granted her that opportunity. They would have probably been appalled and ostracised her for it. But it was necessary for her to be able to share the experience with someone, so she could heal and get over it to the best of her ability. I truly applaud her strength and resilience in this matter.

  


  
And now that I am actually looking at a magical picture of his sixteen year old self, one where he is in his Slytherin Hogwarts' outfit, being thoroughly at ease with where and who he is, I'm beginning to understand some of the things Ginny shared with me much better now. She never stood a chance, because, by Merlin, can I just drool all over this file right now? Jeez, Ginny said he was hot, but … my god, there is a huge difference in someone telling you that and actually looking at the real deal for yourself.

  


  
OK, Granger, you are not a paedophile. Stop drooling over sixteen year old boys. I tell myself this forcefully but to no avail. I somehow find it impossible to draw my eyes away from this picture of him. I wonder what happened that caused his looks to alter so drastically. Curiously, I look up from the picture and glance into his direction. Shrugging, I decide I have no idea what turned his face into a snake like that and I look back at the picture.

  


  
Previously, I always thought that his appearance had changed due to his multiple Horcrux' making, but the Amulet of Aine has proved me wrong to that aspect. Only his eye colour change is due to the Horcruxes. The rest of his features must have changed because of something else. I look back and forth between his 'life' face and the one on the picture in some kind of perverse manner of finding the differences. Maybe that way I can determine what caused it.

  


  
Suddenly, he turns to face me and I quickly snap my head back in the book. Whoa, I almost got busted and I stare at the page quietly, pretending to be reading. I have no idea how to get rid of this book if he decides to come over. Damn, he is tapping with his fingers on the desk. He is always doing that when he is about to make a move of some sort. Come on; go back to staring at the wall as you did a couple of minutes ago. I hold in a relieved sigh when he does and continue to wonder about causes of physical alterations. But there are too many choices to choose from and even if I make a short list of most likely to be used by Voldemort it will still be a lot of options.

  


  
I look back at his marble white face. He already had a pale skin as a boy, which is kind of unusual for someone with such an extreme black hair colour, but not unusual for someone living in the middle of London in an unhealthy, poor environment. I wonder if he ever was outdoors in the sun much. And I want to hit myself in the head for my own stupidity, because he grew up in the thirties, not the eighties… There weren't as many cars around back then, so children could play outdoors even in the city. Maybe it was the diet that made his skin so pale in comparison to others who have black hair.

  


  
Hmm… he got bald as well. Would that be natural or has that also been something that occurred from experimenting with the Dark Arts. Most men are rather peculiar about the possibility of hair loss, so I doubt it is something he did on purpose. And wasn't Salazar Slytherin supposed to be bald too? I think so… Well, maybe he did it on purpose after all, to become more like his idol; the greatest Founder of Hogwarts. I snort condescendingly. The greatest Moron of Hogwarts is more like it. I mean, really, to leave a Basilisk in a secret hideout in a school filled with little children… Just how pathetic can you get?

  


  
However, Voldemort most striking facial feature is the absence of his nose and the slit-for-nostrils that he has there. Actually, if I look at him more thoroughly he hasn't changed that much. I look back and forth from the picture in the book to him. Apart from his eyes, it is the skin colour, the lack of hair and the flattened nose. I guess that, because the changed features are altered into something so uncommon, prominent and inhuman, they automatically take away your attention from what remained the same. But he still has the same bone structure in his face, his ears haven't changed and even though the colour of his skin has turned whiter, it still seems as flawless as it was before.

  


  
But I am sure that the handsome boy's face gave a totally different first impression upon the people who met him than this snakelike face will. Perhaps he felt he wasn't scary enough like that. I can barely sustain my laughter. Personally, I think it is much creepier if looks don't match the character. Umbridge and her sweet pink dresses au contraire to her vile nature made my skin crawl tremendously. A hot, totally handsome Dark Lord will probably achieve the same result with me, but maybe I am just funny that way. Still, the thought that he might have done this to himself to be more feared is a plausible explanation. However, it can just as well be a side-effect to some Dark Arts Charm, Chant, Potion or Merlin knows what. So the question that remains is: was it an accidental or a purposely done alteration?

  


  
I look back at Voldemort. I wonder how he would have looked right now, if he hadn't done this to himself. I mean it is such a waste of a cute face. I squeeze my eyes somewhat together which helps in imagining his old facial features onto his new one. Hmmm… that seems damn right attractive to me. Yummy. I could watch him looking like that all day long. Not to mention that I wouldn't mind snogging… Merlin! He has noticed me watching him. Embarrassed, I hide my now thoroughly reddened face behind the book. Please, don't let him think of performing Leglimency right now. He swirls out of his chair. Panicking, I try to get rid of this book, but I fail miserably and cover my face in my hands. I wish I was dead now.

  


  
'What do you think you are doing with this?' he utters threatening.

  


  
'Well, they do say: 'Know thy enemy,' I respond feeble.

  


  
I back up into the couch in fear as Lord Voldemort paces towards me, whipping out his wand. But when he stops in front of me, he merely places his hands on the back of the couch between my shoulders, boxing me in effectively. And I hold my breath while he towers over me.

  


  
'Is that what I am to you, Hermione, an enemy?' he asks quietly and he gazes at me with an obvious mocking expression. 'I believe you are deluding yourself, darling,' he whispers, pricking the tip of his wand in my neck. 'Leglimency.'

  


  
  
  
  
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	23. Chapter 23

---  
  
  
**The Bittersweet Taste of Victory**

  


  
_Oh what are you really looking for?  
  
Another partner in your life to abuse and to adore?  
  
Is it lovey dovey stuff,  
  
Do you need a bit of rough?  
  
Get on your knees_

  


  
_Yeah turn down the love songs that you hear  
  
'Cause you can't avoid the sentiment  
  
That echoes in your ear  
  
Saying love will stop the pain  
  
Saying love will kill the fea_r  
  
 _Do you believe  
  
You must believe_

  


  
_I spy with my little eye  
  
Something beginning with (ah)  
  
Got my back up  
  
And now she's screaming  
  
I know this girl she likes to switch teams  
  
And I'm a fiend but I'm living for a love supreme_

  


  
_When there's no more love in town  
  
This new century keeps bringing you down  
  
All the places you have been  
  
Trying to find a love supreme  
  
A love supreme_  
  
  
  
 _Come and live a love supreme  
  
Don't let it get you down  
  
Everybody lives for love_

  


  
Robbie Williams; Supreme

  


  
**Chapter twenty-three**

  


  
With a very satisfied and smug smirk Lord Voldemort leaves Hermione's mind. He has seen all he needs to know and he will deal with that utter fool of a Carrow later, but right now… he has to _'explain'_ a few things to Hermione. He is waiting till her breathing is no longer erratic and she has somewhat overcome the physical effects of his Leglimency. The girl has closed her eyes and is leaning forward, holding on to her head with one hand. He knows the aftermath is not exactly pleasant, but then again, she should have known better than to work behind his back and nick his personal belongings. He can't believe he hadn't noticed she had it sooner. He was already wondering what took her so long on the research of his eye problem, but it seems she had been reading other stuff as well. He should have noticed. She was taking forever with the book on Everon Jewellery that he allowed her to read.

  


  
Her hand leaves her head and she opens her eyes, breathing deeply a couple of times. Within an instance his hand has cupped her cheek and she jerks in shock at the sudden contact. Lord Voldemort lifts her head to meet his eyes again. And he places a knee on the couch to support his weight as he towers over her sitting form, making certain to intimidate her with their proximity. A small, teasing smile graces his snakelike features when she presses herself back into the couch in fright. Yes, she knows she was wrong. Lord Voldemort does not allow people to snoop around his past. He is thoroughly going to enjoy this. There is nothing a little humiliation can't fix.

  


  
'You know, darling,' he whispers deviously, staring straight into those wonderful dark brown eyes of hers, 'I would have been more than happy to supply you with an old picture of me had I known it would turn you on so much.'

  


  
To his utter delight his whispered statement receives the expected, physiological response from her and he strokes that lovely face of hers. Tormenting Hermione is always so much fun. She is so cute when her cheeks are all flushed from embarrassment. It never ceases to amaze him how utterly dreadful she is in hiding her true emotions and feelings. It's very rare that he can't tell what she is thinking when he looks at her face. She truly is an open book to him. He lets go of her face and boxes her in once more with his hands. Let's see how red her face can get. And he smirks at the thought.

  


  
'Close your eyes, Hermione,' he orders softly, revelling in the worried expression that is now visibly present. She really is terrible in hiding her emotions. 'Don't make me assist you,' he adds, gazing at her warningly.

  


  
She complies and closes her eyes. 'Good girl,' he purrs and he studies her solemn face.

  


  
His magic is pulling him towards her and a part of him wants nothing more than to snog her senseless, but first things first. Its business before pleasure and all those other idiotic phrases made up by those who did not have to live by them. However, this will require his utmost concentration and it will cost pain, severe pain. He clearly remembers how bloody painful it is to achieve. Still towering over Hermione, he leans with his hands on the couch, and he focuses. Every ounce of skill, he has, flares through his body at his command and he closes his own eyes and starts the chant nonverbally. His fingers dig deep into the couch's pillow when the most excruciating pain travels across his neural pathways, but it is a familiar pain and he does not acknowledge it. He is Lord Voldemort. A bit of pain will never stop him, never.

  


  
Keeping his mind focused on the task at hand, he repeats the chant again. It's when he feels the shift in his magic, the Force is turning the cells inside of him and his bones seem on fire. He clenches his teeth firmly upon one another waiting for the last bit of it. And it strikes with a vengeance. His skin feels like it is being ripped from his flesh and he begins to regret his rather rash decision to do this. After all, he will have to go through it all again in order to revert back. But it is too late to change his mind and a relieved sigh escapes him when it is over and done with.

  


  
He opens his eyes and looks at Hermione, who hasn't moved a muscle or blinked once. This better be worth it. Leaning on his left knee, he takes a hold of Hermione's head and presses his lips on hers, demanding entry into her mouth. Such a delicious woman. He runs his hands through her hair, and they are kissing like there is no tomorrow when he realises she still has her eyes closed. When did she start to comply to his orders so adequately? She never listened before. It is most annoying, since he really doesn't want to leave her luscious mouth. But he will have to if he wants to witness the reward to the ordeal he just went through. He isn't the only one who lets out a disappointed groan when he pulls back slightly.

  


  
'Look at me, Hermione,' he whispers with a devilish smirk.

  


  
This is going to be entertaining. He has no doubt about that. Not after what he just witnessed in her mind. And he is proven right, because the girl merely stares at him, stupefied.

  


  
'What? Speechless?' he asks smiling and he closes her jaw with his index finger. 'That'll be a first.'

  


  
'A Glamour Charm?' Hermione asks, but he can tell by the uncertainty in her voice that she doesn't really believe it is what he did.

  


  
He shakes his head with an amused smirk on his face. 'Nope.'

  


  
Hesitantly, she reaches out to touch his face and he allows her to sate her curiosity. His gaze turns intense when her fingers investigate his nose. Her touch on his skin feels surprisingly different from the times before. Hmmm… he never knew it had altered his sensible nerves. Granger has now moved her hand into his hair. He has to admit he was kind of worried in advance he may have turned bald by now, but he can tell by the way her hand moves through his hair that it is still as thick and voluminous as ever. Though, he has no idea on the colour. He needs to check himself in the mirror later to see if he turned grey already. Those little fingers roaming through his hair are giving him kind of a nice feeling and he leans forward to kiss her again.

  


  
'It's not a Disillusionment Charm either,' Hermione says frowning.

  


  
'Do you need to talk all the time?' he asks, a bit annoyed that she hasn't immediately started snogging him senseless, because that was the usual female response to his former appearance whenever he paid one his personal attention.

  


  
'Your voice is different too,' she says puzzled and she scratches her neck, stopping that splendiferous caress of his hair.

  


  
He rolls his eyes. This he should have foreseen. Of course she turns it into an educational assignment. Not what he is going for. He hasn't made that painful transformation to discuss the theory of it.

  


  
'Granger, you are completely missing the point of this.'

  


  
Now, she snorts. Her responses are beginning to irritate him thoroughly. He wanted to make her feel embarrassed by her reactions to his old appearance, but she is too caught up into her mind, trying to solve the puzzle he has provided her with, that she doesn't even have the decency to go all red, hot and swoon over him. Perhaps he has gotten wrinkles in his face and that is why she doesn't seem affected? He really should have looked in the mirror first himself. A flick of his wrist and he summons one.

  


  
'Yes, your voice is definitely lower now,' she adds, giggling when he catches the mirror and checks his own face. 'So it can't be some superficial transformation by a charm or a spell. Did you use a Potion of some sort?'

  


  
He is about to ask her if she heard him drink something, but she already casts that aside as well before he has time to respond.

  


  
'No, you wouldn't have needed magic to drink a Potion,' she adds thoughtful. 'So it has to be some other intricate, something more invasive…'

  


  
In the back of his mind, Lord Voldemort hears Hermione speculate on the possibilities, but he is kind of preoccupied with staring at his own reflection. It is kind of startling to him how little he changed. Sure, there are some spots of grey in his old pitch-black hair colour, but his pale skin doesn't look a day older than when he altered his appearance. Maybe it hasn't aged, because he Transfigured it? Odd … but an interesting side-effect. It is something worthy of examining a bit further, before he will revert back into his other self. All and all he feels that he still looks dashingly cute and handsome, so that isn't the reason for the broad's ample reaction.

  


  
'Transfiguration Syndrome!' Hermione shouts triumphant, jerking him out of his little _'mirror mirror on the wall'_ episode.

  


  
Smirking, he looks at the clever witch. 'What about it?' he asks calmly, tossing the mirror away.

  


  
'You had Transfiguration Syndrome,' she says, watching him through narrowed eyelids.

  


  
'So?' he shrugs. She is on the right track, but he is kind of curious whether she will figure it out on her own.

  


  
'You Transfigured yourself into that?' she says puzzled. 'But why? Thought this wasn't scary enough?' and she folds her arms over each other mockingly.

  


  
'Granger, you have no idea how much people base their first reaction on looks alone. I can tell you some very interesting stories about the different effects this face receives au contraire to my other one. Especially in the female population,' he adds mischievous.

  


  
Now, she finally has the decency to blush. He adores those reddened cheeks of hers. They're such a gorgeous illustration of how much he is affecting her. He caresses them and moves his hand to the base of her skull. He will enjoy taken her like this.

  


  
'But you couldn't have done a mere Transfiguration,' she interrupts his plans.

  


  
'Couldn't I?'

  


  
'No, a Transfiguration alone will only allow you to stay in an altered form temporarily and if you change to often you are subject to the disease. And you've been like …' she halts, obviously not knowing a polite manner to describe it, ' _thatfor ages.'_

  


  
'Maybe I took one of my illustrious Transfiguration short cuts,' he replies, mocking Dumbledore's statement in his file.

  


  
He sees the recognition in her eyes and … Sweet Merlin, she was annoyed when she read Dumbledore's comment? This positively delights him. He knew it. He knew it was only a matter of time, before she would fall and become his, forever.

  


  
'You should read what he wrote in your file, darling,' he adds, before she has a chance to respond. 'Though, Dumbledore really wasted his time by trying to warn them not to hire me for a position in the Department of Mysteries. It's not like I ever wanted to become a lackey there.'

  


  
'No, because Merlin forbid, then you would have to share the knowledge you obtained,' Hermione says sarcastically, shaking her hands in the air and tilting her head backward to illustrate how preposterous of an idea that concept is.

  


  
He laughs loudly. When it reaches his ears, he notices it sounds differently. It's by far not as cold and high-pitched as his normal laugh. It's frankly not an eerie laugh at all and it disgusts him. Oh well, this is only a temporary situation.

  


  
'You know me quite well, dear,' he smoothly says to Hermione, capturing her lips.

  


  
Hmmm… she tastes so much better now. His long, slender fingers move over her body. She feels nicer in his hands as well. Her hands run through his hair, massaging his skull, while he moves his hand up the inside of her thigh. They moan simultaneously and it arouses him. He has to have her right now. In one prompt and accurate move, he lowers Hermione on the couch and places his body on top of hers. Merlin, she feels so good underneath him.

  


  
'The baseline!' she shouts in his mouth and he groans in frustration.

  


  
Hermione pushes him away. Excited, she has found the solution. 'You've found a way to change the Transfiguration Baseline. It's the only way to stay permanently into a form that isn't originally yours. Setting a new baseline will avoid the occurrence of the Syndrome by removing the obligation to return back to your old self.'

  


  
He nods approvingly and proud, even though he rather has her move those lips to satisfy him at the moment. But she is the most intelligent witch he has ever met. She could be the offspring of Mrs Cole and he would still desire her.

  


  
'Did you reset the baseline before Transfiguring your appearance or after? Because you really needed to…'

  


  
'Hermione,' he interrupts her passionate rant. 'This,' and he points to his newly found handsome face, 'is a temporary situation. Let's not waste it on debating the foundations of Transfiguration.'

  


  
'Oh,' she says somewhat disappointed.

  


  
He isn't completely certain she is feeling disappointed due to his physical change being temporary or because of his reluctance to discuss the theory behind his altered appearance. Maybe it's a bit of both? But his ego doesn't feel like taking that to the test as of now, since there is too big a risk of it becoming a humiliating experience for him. He will just have to occupy her mind with something else. A vicious grin accompanies that thought.

  


  
'Don't worry, Hermione, I am going to keep you quite busy.'

  


  
His arms slither around her waist and he spins them from the couch and Apparates away to his bedroom. Vertically again, he holds her close and smiles down on her. It's not a pleasant smile and it does not forebode kind actions on his end. For he is Lord Voldemort. And Lord Voldemort always gets what he wants. Always. They kiss extensively as he tracks her spine with his hands; one hand is slowly making his way upward while the other goes down. Finding the right vertebrae, he halts and enjoys this little scheme he set up for Hermione. The vulnerability she has shown to his handsome features will be nothing, nothing compare to this. It will be the combination that will bring her to her knees, literally.

  


  
He smirks.

  


  
Applying Sex Magic directly into the nervous system is an art of its own, one of the darkest out there. So naturally, he knows all about it. And he is going to relish doing this to someone who has a magical compatibility to him. He wonders briefly about the effects it may have on Hermione, since the magic is rather potent when administered and he had witches die on him before. But he is about to find out. His fingers are massaging the bone structure around her spine as he finds the nerves' ends and presses down. He closes his eyes in delight and savours the moment before casting the charm nonverbally, without a single warning. His reward is enormous.

  


  
Hermione, who was battling with his tongue ferociously, gasps and crashes into his body. He feels her arms tightening her hold of him as she desperately seeks for some support to her no doubt overwhelming feelings. He is not supporting her. He wants her to yield. He wants her on her knees where she belongs. This Mudblood will stop fighting him tonight. Lord Voldemort has stopped kissing her and is looking down on the witch in front of him with a distinct leer on his face as he feels an incredible boost of power from subduing her. He is her master and she will be brought down by him tonight. He is delighted by the prospect, while he feels Hermione's trembling body against him. It arouses him and he wants her to do something about his ache.

  


  
But the blasted woman is still standing upright. It's when inspiration strikes and he decides on shifting the magic inside of her from her own to his. The major jolt of his magic pushes her over the edge. He hears her scream when her legs become feeble, her knees buckle and she crashes down, unable to keep herself upright anymore. Finally ... she is on her knees before him. He can feel her desperation seep through the manner in which she clings to his legs, the way she presses her shaking body into him in pure uncensored desire. Sex is now sipping through every pore of her skin. It has become her entire essence of being through the charm he cast. He knows she is now totally depended on him. At his mercy so to speak, because Sex Magic drains the body's resources fully. It overrules any other function, including the vital ones to survival.

  


  
He has killed with this charm, laughing, while the person in front of him became more desperate and exhausted by the minute, because he denied them their much needed physical contact with him. He had said victims do unspeakable things to others by giving them a flare of false hope that he would alleviate their suffering and allow them to touch him, which he never did. It was always incredibly entertaining and he usually used the charm to satisfy his inner circle of Death Eaters. Some of them were pretty fond of the needy victims; though they never understood it was not them the victims were needy for and Lord Voldemort never felt the need to explain the aspects of the charm he cast to his stupid followers. One thing was sure though, those were always pleasurable kills, always.

  


  
However, he will not kill tonight. Hermione will feel his power and submit to it. She will do whatever he asks of her as he generously grants her access to what she needs. The physical contact with him is what she is now depending on for survival. It never ceases to amaze him how nature quickly adapts to situations as these. Hermione does not know what he has done, but instinctively she clings to him. Her kneeling legs are placed on the outskirts of his, so her body can be as close to him as possible. Her arms are wrapped around his thighs and her head is pressed sideways against his hips, while her shivering becomes more violently with the passing of time. She senses it is contact with his body that she needs… that she desires…

  


  
But he knows her agony will increase if the contact is not skin on skin and they are both still very much dressed. Condescendingly, he places his hand on her head. And he is patting her as if she were a pet or a little child, sending little jolts of his magic into her with that same, continuing leer on his face, while she becomes more and more vocal with her desperate little moans. A wave of his hand and her clothes are gone. She will feel she is his property as she services him. And he does like the appropriate height her head is on at the moment.

  


  
'While you are down there, Mudblood,' he spats, enjoying the manner in which he can screw around with her mind too while she is in this condition, 'make yourself useful.'

  


  
And he tilts her head backward, so it is in front of his cock. He knows he is still fully dressed and that it will be hard for Hermione to undress him in her current condition, but she will just have to manage. She needs him more than he does her. He can feel how unsteady she is when she lets go of his legs with her hands in an uncertain way and moves them to unbutton the lower parts of his robes. Her hands are shaking and she is failing miserably at the task at hand as he expected. So he grabs a hold of her hair firmly and she yelps as he jerks her head backward forcefully.

  


  
'Get a move on, witch,' he sneers.

  


  
He wants her to beg for his assistance in the task he has given her. She will acknowledge the full force of his dominance over her, before he will help her out. He watches Hermione blink several times at her inability to unbutton his robe, because of her body's malfunctioning. She almost crashes down to the floor, but he has a tight hold of her hair and is not letting go. He sees the realisation that she needs help dawn on her features, but she is pretty stubborn and keeps her mouth shut for a long time. Not that it bothers him; he is quite comfortable standing there with his hand around her hair. He uses his free hand to brush through his own. It feels nice having hair again. It really does.

  


  
'Please,' Hermione begs. 'I can't do this.'

  


  
She looks at him quite helplessly and he relishes the sight. Beautiful. He cups her cheek with his hand and Hermione closes her eyes at their physical contact. When he withdraws his hand, he smiles at the desperation and realisation in her wonderful eyes. She really is smart for figuring this out so quickly. Most people, he used the charm on, died without understanding why they graved his touch. However, now that she knows he won't have to explain her predicament to her anymore and he can make her humiliate herself before him just a bit longer.

  


  
'Do you require my assistance to suck my cock, Mudblood?' he asks joyfully and exceptionally rude on purpose.

  


  
Hermione blinks, shivering. She stares at him, clearly distraught. 'Yes,' she whispers.

  


  
'Yes?' he repeats, frowning, since he misses something in that response.

  


  
'Yes, my Lord,' Hermione says a bit louder, and he finds her irresistible when he sees the humiliation shine through her eyes.

  


  
'Very well, my doll,' he says teasingly. 'I suppose I can help you with your need.'

  


  
A flick of his wrist unbuttons his lower robes and his member becomes available to Hermione. She starts sucking on it like her life is hanging in the balance, which in a way it is, he supposes. The powers of the Sex Charm are beginning to enter his body due to their intimate contact, but he is not at risk here. He only feels the pleasurable effects of the charm and they are quite remarkable. He will have to do this again, because she is very diligent with her mouth right now, more so than she was before when she pleased him. He moans and shifts his weight on his feet when she does something with her tongue that he likes a lot. A sharp intake of breath escapes him when she takes him so far in her mouth that she practically gags of her own volition.

  


  
'Yessss,' he hisses, satisfied while he comes to completion in the back of her mouth. 'My dear, you were born to serve me.'

  


  
He leans his head backwards and groans out of pleasure with his eyes closed. She really is something. He notices she swallows all of him, and pleased with her performance, he looks down on the desperate, little witch. A harsh pull on her hair and she is on her feet again. Silently, he places his hands on her naked body and follows the contours as he locks her eyes with his. She is still suffering the effects of the charm and he can tell she likes the contact, no needs the contact, and wants to expand on it. However, she is submissive enough to leave the initiative where it belongs … with him. It entrances him and he leans towards her face, blowing his breath against her skin, making her close her eyes as she exhales.

  


  
'I'm beginning to think you like this, Hermione,' he whispers smoothly and he pulls her trembling figure against his still clothed body.

  


  
He feels her arms starting to move around him, but he will not allow her any initiative and he quickly catches her lower arms. Her eyes snap open and he captures her attention.

  


  
'You were doing so well, my pet, don't ruin things now. I don't want to punish you for misbehaving. Is that clear?'

  


  
Hermione nods. Voldemort tilts his head at her silent compliance, but he decides he can live with it for now and follows the contours of her arms further down. His long slender fingers can reach around her wrists fully, but he moves on to her hands and lifts them so he can place their palms against each other and lace his fingers with hers in an intimate gesture. Gracefully, he moves towards her, lifting her hands up until they are next to her head. When their bodies collide, he feels the shiver that runs through her. Slowly, he coaxes her to move backward until she hits the bed and he pushes her downward, coming to rest on top of her, leaning on their still joined hands that he placed beside her head. He gazes into those dark brown eyes and it is almost like they are darkening on the spot.

  


  
'Do you want me to take you?' asks Voldemort.

  


  
He sees her looking at him, considering what the right response would be. 'Yes, my Lord,' Hermione says, desire sipping through her veins.

  


  
He squeezes her hands in his and watches her expectantly. 'Let's not get boring, shall we dear? Why don't you try the real title you should use right now?'

  


  
Hermione swallows in discomfort, before she speaks rather hoarsely. 'Yes, master.'

  


  
'Very good, my dearest, you are finally learning your rightful place, aren't you?'

  


  
Grinning, he waits for the response.

  


  
Hermione blinks. 'Yes, master,' she repeats submissively. 'I live to serve you.'

  


  
He thinks it is rather slippery of her to add that, especially since he can tell she isn't exactly honest at the moment, but still… she is demure enough and she did service him quite nicely before. And he needs her alive, so he focuses his magic on his hands to cast his clothes away. He is smiling at Hermione as she feels the magic in their joined hands and bucks towards him in reflex. The moment his naked skin comes in contact with hers, she inhales violently; her eyes flutter shut and her entire body moves toward him. He captures her luscious mouth with his and roams it with his tongue. The Sex Magic is affecting her thoroughly, because she practically comes from this alone. She is wrapping her legs around his waist to draw him inside of her, while her hands try to break free from his grasp. He breaks the kiss and stares at her heatedly. He enjoys her needy expression, the way she pants and breaths for him, the way her body moves to sate its desire.

  


  
'The Dark Arts can be very enthralling, wouldn't you agree, Hermione?' he says smirking. 'The pleasures it donates to those who master them fully. I can teach you everything, my dear. All you have to do is surrender to me completely.'

  


  
She groans in frustration and bucks against him. He throws his head back and laughs. His hair is falling across his face as he looks back down at the woman beneath him. 'Impatient one, aren't you?'

  


  
He uses his magic to arouse her even further as he casts spells through their joined hands. Her body is now thrashing underneath him wildly and she is begging him to enter. Her very creative wording in her pleas amuses him sincerely and he definitely has doubts about the validity of the Sorting Hat's choices now. Finally, he takes pity on the fiery Gryffindor and she cries out loud when he enters her with a smooth and harsh stroke. Not giving her time to adjust, he starts pumping back and forth inside of her in a manner that would make the majority of women want to get away from him desperately.

  


  
But Hermione becomes more vocal by the second, screaming for more and meeting him halfway so his trusts impact even harder. He already knew she was a little hellcat in the sack, but this … this is astonishing even to him. He'll have to use that charm again. If he can still remember it after he is done here, because by Merlin that woman is trying to fuck his brain out. They reach their respective orgasms simultaneously and he collapses on top of her, perspiring heavily. That was one deliciously executed fuck. He rolls to the side of her and caresses her skin while looking her directly in the eye.

  


  
'No goody-two-shoes wizard will ever make you feel this way, Hermione,' he smoothly says. 'And you want to feel this way all the time, don't you?'

  


  
Now that she had her orgasm the Sex Magic is done working and he can tell that she has regained some form of control over herself again. However, her lack in denying his statement says it all to him. He is winning this battle. She wants to be with him. She just is refusing to acknowledge it to herself. He kisses her mouth once more before withdrawing and leaving the bed in all his nude glory. He feels like snacking now.

  


  
The next day he stands in the bathroom looking at his own reflection. He can't believe he has a couple of grey hairs already. Grey represents old and old represents death and that is simply unacceptable. Lord Voldemort will not die; never, ever. Maybe he shall pull them out. He picks up a grey tuft and watches it irritated when a soft chuckle sounds from the bathroom's doorway. Shocked, he removes his hand, but it is already too late. She saw what he was doing. Damn that aggravating woman. Does she have to notice everything? She's probably the reason his hair is turning grey in the first place. Angrily, he glares in her direction, but that only seems to heighten her amusement even further.

  


  
'Are you making fun of me, Granger?' he utters threateningly.

  


  
She snorts. 'I wouldn't dream,' she replies, but there is a distinct mocking undertone present in her voice.

  


  
'See, this is exactly why I have no use for these features,' he growls. 'Or this voice.'

  


  
'It's not the voice. It's what comes out of it that scares people,' Granger retorts dryly. 'Besides I am not making fun of you. You merely caught me by surprise. I never took you for the vain type, considering what you normally look like,' Hermione says, walking towards him with an annoying grin on her face.

  


  
'This is death,' he hisses, correcting her foolish assumptions.

  


  
She raises her eyebrows and halts beside him, resting her hand on his arm. 'I think it makes you look distinguished,' she says softly, pinching his arm reassuringly before disappearing behind the shower curtain.

  


  
Surprised, he stares in the direction of the shower. Why does he, all of the sudden, feel a whole lot better? He shakes his head to get rid of the damn emotion. 'You have until the end of today to find the solution to my eye colour issues and I better not find you doing anything else anymore,' he hisses threatening, not wanting to acknowledge the influence Hermione had on his state of being.

  


  
A head filled with clouds of shampoo peeks around the corner of the curtain. 'You mean that isn't due to your Transfiguration?' she asks innocently.

  


  
Too innocently. Her eyes widen when he swirls over there and traps her naked body up against the wall with his fully clothed one. Not caring that the water is now pouring down on his robes. 'What have you found?'

  


  
She gulps.

  


  
His right hand wraps around her shampoo-filled hair and he gives it a firm tug. 'Don't make me ask you again, Hermione,' he snarls in her ear. 'I've been very lenient to your indiscretion yesterday, but I won't have you make a fool of me and my generosity unpunished continuously.'

  


  
And to illustrate his point, he Crucios her briefly. The feeling of her naked body writhing and twisting against him in pain excites him, especially when she rubs against his privates. And he feels his blood starting to flow to much more pleasurable parts of his body than his brain. He is now certain that his Transfiguration had an effect on his sensible nerves, because he is far quicker aroused than normally. Only the screaming right next to his ear is kind of deafening, so he lifts the Cruciatus Curse with a disappointed groan. Watching the girl expectantly, he waits for the answer to his question, while the pouring water from the shower is making his black robes become thoroughly soaked and they are beginning to cling to his thin body annoyingly.

  


  
'It's from the Amulet,' she whispers frightened.

  


  
'Continue,' he barks, ignoring the rise underneath his clothes with great difficulty.

  


  
'But I don't understand all of it, yet,' she says demure, looking at him with worry spread all over her lovely features.

  


  
Aroused, he gazes down at her submissive appearance. The water of the shower is cascading down on them, while she lowers her eyes in surrender. Is that little Gryffindor playing him? He pulls her head backward by her hair, so she has to meet his eyes again when he cups her wet cheek with his free hand and rubs her lips with his thumb. Hermione opens her mouth and starts to suck on his thumb, anticipation in her eyes. Oh she is definitely playing him. But he doesn't mind this at all. However, what she is doing there to his thumb is something he will greatly appreciate her doing to another part of his body. So let's see how creative she is willing to get to make him stop questioning her. Slowly, he leans towards her mouth with his and he removes his thumb. Teasingly, he halts his mouth inches away from hers as his hand travels over her wet body, pinching a nipple roughly which causes her to jerk in response.

  


  
'Tell me what you do know,' he orders smoothly against her lips, letting go of her and placing both his hands on either side of her head. He is still completely towering over her, but they are no longer having any physical contact, since he stepped back a bit. He is granting her the freedom to move her body as she pleases. But that freedom better be used in a manner that is satisfactory to him or he will be very disappointed. And that is something, which is never advisable for anyone to let happen.

  


  
The water from the shower is falling in small streams from his hair. It is rather strange to have the feel of wet hair against his skin again. It sorts of distracts him a bit and he moves his hand to get it to stop sticking to his forehead. His hand falls on Hermione's, whom had suddenly moved her hand there a bit earlier. She halts her movement as his fingers intertwine with hers and he squeezes her hand briefly.

  


  
'May I?' she whispers.

  


  
A small incline of his head is all the response he gives and he lets go of her hand, placing his hand back against the wall, curious about what she will do. Hermione strokes his hair gently out of his face and for some inconceivable reason that sends shivers down his spine. Her other hand takes a hold of the back of his skull as she closes the distance between their bodies. Their lips meet and she moves her tongue inside his mouth cautiously, asking for permission with her eyes. He allows her access and gazes down at her intensely when she starts to explore his mouth with her tongue. At first she is gentle and careful, circling her tongue around his, while her hands are stroking through his wet hair. But soon her kisses turn more passionate and she has a firm grip on his head as she sucks on his tongue fiercely. He feels like grabbing her and pinning her up against the wall, but he refrains himself and allows Hermione to lead this time. He is not disappointed.

  


  
Her hands move down from his hair to his body and she starts to fumble on the buttons, but when they won't budge, because she isn't exactly having her eyes on them, she rips open his robe, heatedly. Buttons fly through the air and clatter noisily to the ground as Hermione pushes her body into his making him stagger backwards into the shower curtain. He tries to help her with getting his clothing of him, but she slaps his hand away and he arches an amused eyebrow at her. However, a surge of magic surrounds him and his wet robes are gone in an instance. The nice hot water is not the only thing heating his lean body up when Hermione pushes him into a wall violently. He has no time to be surprised about her strength, because she is all over him in no time and he gasps when she strokes his length with her hand. Perhaps he shall have to question her some more in the future, if this is her diversion tactic.

  


  
Perhaps he shall question her right now. He groans when she sucks on his nipples. Maybe later… A pulsating longing fills him as Hermione grinds her hips against him, causing his erection to press into her belly. He wants to be inside of her, to feel her hot sweet pussy clamp around his cock. With a smooth move, he turns the tables on them. He twirls them around forcefully. A squeal leaves Hermione's lips as he crushes her delightful, little body against the wet tiles on the wall, lifting her from the ground, forcing her to wrap her legs and arms around him. Their foreheads collide and they stare at each other heatedly and silently. He smirks.

  


  
'Tell me, witch,' he hisses, grabbing her hips firmly with his hands. 'Do you really think these antics of yours will stop me from obtaining the answers to my questions?'

  


  
And with a violent stroke he pushes forward, while pulling her toward him at the same time, making certain to burry his cock inside of her as deep as possible. She screams in a mixture of pain and delight, so he keeps himself there; forcing her to continue to experience the depth of his considerable length inside of her. The wetness he feels down there is surely not from the water and her hips are making futile attempts to buck against him. He experiences the short, jerked movements against his hips in delight, but he is not accommodating her.

  


  
'Answer me, Hermione.'

  


  
A sly smile makes it to his face when he sees she has totally forgotten the question. _'Tsk… tsk… tsk…'_ he clicks with his tongue, disapprovingly. _'It seems you need a bit of help remembering. You see, Hermione,'_ and with that he gives her a short burst back and forth inside, until they're in the same position, _'you seem to be under the mistaken impression that fucking me…,'_ another violent rocking motion with his hips makes the girl cry out loud as he hits a vulnerable spot inside of her _, '…will make me forgot I have questions that require answering.'_

  


  
He whips out his wand and presses the tip of it in her side. With a swift brush, he moves it upwards across her skin, and she writhes against him as he singes her skin. He loves how her naked body's contracting at the pain, and how those contractions make him feel inside of her. She becomes quite tight when she's in pain, deliciously tight. So he singes her skin again with the tip of his wand.

  


  
'As you can see, Hermione, I am perfectly capable of doing two things at once. So what have you not told me about my eye colour change?'

  


  
'I don't …' she waits and bites her lip. 'I have trouble understanding it fully. I need more information.'

  


  
He sends her a wicked smile. Even though he knows she is quite a perfectionist. Even though he thinks she probably has been waiting until she can give him a full report all at once. No matter all those considerations, he will punish her for this lack of compliance and he will enjoy her punishment tremendously. A flick of his wand takes care of Hermione's insides for him. He sees the girl's eyes widen in fear as she must notice how he has not only made her tighten around him, but has also made her quite dry. It won't be at all pleasurable for her if he moves now and he can tell she knows it by the apprehensive manner in which she is eyeing him.

  


  
'Talk,' he orders. 'Or…' and he starts to move.

  


  
'No! Please!' Hermione shouts.

  


  
A vicious laugh leaves his lips, but still, he halts expectantly.

  


  
'Well,' she starts hesitantly, 'there is some link, which I need to study more upon, between the eyes and the soul. So when the Amulet activates it not only targets the soul, but also, I think indirectly, your eyes.'

  


  
He gazes down into her dark brown eyes. She isn't lying. For a split-second he thought she already knew the complete answer, but she doesn't. And what she has told him makes sense. It is in the line of what he was thinking himself as well. He relaxes and whirls his wand at her again, so she will be more comfortable around him when he moves. Quickly, he takes them both to ecstasy. When she is panting and shaking against him underneath the still pouring shower, he crushes his mouth on hers to mark her as his completely. She gasps for air and is watching him warily as he withdraws from her fully.

  


  
'It's not only my eyes who are changing in colour, dearest. You better take that along in your research too, if you hadn't considered it already.'

  


  
'I have a feeling the book on Everon Jewellery will explain it all,' she whispers.

  


  
'Let us hope so,' he calmly states. 'You have, after all, until tonight to find it. I've been patient with you long enough.'

  


  
Lord Voldemort pats her on the cheek and stalks away, whipping his wand around to change into a new set of dry, black robes. After that, he uses a Glamour Charm to alter his features into his familiar snakelike one and he casts a Sound Pitching Charm on his vocal cords, because he is going to have a nice chat with Amycus Carrow about handing student files to prisoners. And he is not inclined to show his true self to his stupid followers. Next thing you'll know, they will start to revolt against him, thinking he is human and fallible. He really doesn't need _them_ getting any ideas with those minuscule brains of theirs.

  


  
Lord Voldemort steps through the soundproof secret passage into the Headmaster's Office and is greeted with a delightful scenery. Amycus Carrow is writhing and twisting on the floor, while screaming his lungs out in agony, because Mulciber is Crucio-ing him into insanity. The other Carrow, Alecto, lies crumbled up in a heap against the wall and next to her unconscious body stands Eveline Mulciber. She has folded her arms over each other and is staring at the curled, contorted figure of Carrow with the same gleam of satisfaction and hatred in her eyes as her husband. Lord Voldemort raises his eyebrows and scratches his neck. No one has even noticed his arrival. They are too much involved in their private little matters. However, he does not condone these kinds of actions without his explicit approval.

  


  
'Expelliarmus,' he lazily waves.

  


  
Mulciber's wand flies into his hand and it turns eerily quiet in the office. 'My Lord,' Mulciber says, kneeling immediately and so does his wife.

  


  
'What is the meaning of this, Mulciber?' he calmly asks. 'I was under the impression you and your wife were taking a long holiday abroad.'

  


  
'Master, Master… they attacked me,' Carrow says panting, before kissing the hem of his robes.

  


  
'I did not give you permission to speak, Amycus,' he hisses menacingly, and he plants a harsh kick in the ribcage of the man, making him roll away gasping for air. 'You're unfortunate, they haven't killed you yet. Mulciber?'

  


  
'My Lord, as Hogwarts' Headmaster, this man was entrusted with, and responsible for, the safety of my son, and now, Suriano is no more. And Carrow,' Mulciber spats, 'doesn't want to explain what happened. So I thought I'd help freshen up his memory.'

  


  
'What?' Voldemort asks furiously. Had someone dared to attack a Death Eater's child in his castle and succeeded in killing it? A child of one of his first and most loyal followers? He whirls his wand towards Amycus. 'You better start talking fast, Carrow, because this is the second blunder, you've made in a short while, that comes to my attention.'

  


  
'I don't understand how it could have got in, Master,' Amycus responds fearful. 'I had not allowed access to any dementors in this castle and they couldn't have got in on their own merit. Besides, nobody has seen one.'

  


  
Voldemort frowns. Dementors?

  


  
'So you claim this castle is and was dementor free?' Eveline hisses to Amycus, ignoring the warning glances and no shaking head of her husband. 'So we are just imagining that my son turned into an empty shell with no more thoughts, feelings and emotions of his own. This is the lousy excuse you're given us! That they couldn't have been there!' she hollers. 'Then explain to me, Amycus, why he is showing every sign in the textbook of having received a dementor's kiss! And I know you are the only one, who could have granted them access!'

  


  
The woman screeches on ferociously. Normally, Lord Voldemort would have stopped her by now and punished her for interrupting him, but her behaviour gives him some time to consider the situation. He is pretty certain he now knows whose soul the Devil's Book had taken, because Carrow is telling the truth. This castle has been made dementor-proof. Rodolphus took care of that quite adequately.

  


  
However, he is not planning to share the fact with the Mulcibers that he sacrificed their son's soul to safe Hermione's. A dementor gone astray is a far more convenient explanation for him. He looks into the direction of Alphonse Mulciber. The man is trying to stop his wife from ranting at Carrow, before she invokes his wrath. Mulciber is a most trustworthy, loyal, adequate Death Eater and not nearly as dim-witted a follower as Carrow. He will make a far better Headmaster. And Lord Voldemort has had quite enough of Carrow's continued mishaps. Giving Hermione his file, of all things in the world. Not to mention the man's long and drooling welcome speeches are a disaster to sit and listen to every year. He has come to a decision.

  


  
'That is quite enough, Eveline,' Lord Voldemort says quietly. 'What do you want done to Carrow?'

  


  
A whimper escapes the man on the floor. 'But my Lord… I haven't…'

  


  
'Silence, Carrow!' Voldemort snarls. 'You have irked me enough. You and your continuous stupidity. If you can't explain how the dementor got in when Eveline is quite right in saying you are the only one who could have granted it access, then perhaps you can explain how come Hermione Granger has been reading a student file.'

  


  
'My Lord?' Carrow asks confused. 'She said you needed it.'

  


  
'And you believed her?' Voldemort snarls, shaking his head over the amount of dumbness on the floor before him. 'You didn't feel the need to verify her request with me?'

  


  
'Master, you were busy questioning the Smiths,' Amycus says desperate. 'I didn't want to disturb you with such an unimportant, futile affair. It was just an old file of some halfblood wizard no one has ever even heard anything about. This Tom Riddle bloke is probably dead anyway.'

  


  
Alphonse Mulciber's head snaps up in surprise at hearing the name in question. From the corner of his eye, Lord Voldemort notices that Mulciber is now monitoring the exchange between Carrow and him with even more interest and a large amount of glee. The glee makes sense. After all, this particular Death Eater is one of the few people out there, who still are aware of his other identity. It is another reason to give Mulciber the position of Headmaster. He can monitor him a lot more closely here than in his other job. Besides, Mulciber will be a lot more fun to have around. The man isn't a complete dork and utter bore like Carrow.

  


  
'I see,' Voldemort responds quietly to Amycus. 'You just had to be so retarded to buy Hermione's mere implication that I would punish you if you interrupted me or if you didn't hand her the file expediently. Well, I suppose your fear of invoking my wrath has just become a reality.'

  


  
He turns to back to the Mulcibers. 'So Eveline,' Voldemort asks amused, 'what strikes your fancy?'

  


  
'We'd like to make him suffer ourselves, Master,' Eveline responds humble.

  


  
Questionably, he monitors Mulciber. Yes, the man can certainly perform in that area. And it will give him the opportunity to finish his business with Achilles Smith. He's getting quite tired of hearing him scream, and he plans to test out the curse, he used on Sir Murdoch, to see if it really was the man's age or something else that caused the curse to kill where it shouldn't have. Whatever the outcome, he will make sure Achilles dies in a horrific manner today.

  


  
'That is acceptable,' he responds slowly. 'However, Alphonse … the outcome of your performance better be, that Mr Carrow and his sister over here will never bother me with their presence ever again. They have both failed to follow my orders to my satisfaction continuously and I am done explaining myself. When you are done with them, wait here. I have some career changes to talk about with you and your wife.'

  


  
'Yes, Master,' the Mulcibers say simultaneously, making him nod approvingly.

  


  
Yes, this way he won't have to go looking for a new DADA and Muggle Studies teacher. They will do just fine. And Lord Voldemort Apparates away to the Ministry. He is certain his business with the Carrows will be taken care of quite thoroughly. Now, he has to get rid of that other nail on his coffin. After which Malfoy can give him a report on the situation with the elusive Figg woman.

  


  
Lord Voldemort has made quite a day of it in London. It turns out that he wasn't too tired of hearing Smith scream after all, so he took his time in killing the man. In between that, he scolded Lucius for his lack in progress in finding the Figg wench and he convinced the Mulcibers in taking the jobs at Hogwarts by contacting them through the hearth. Yes, it thoroughly has been a productive day and the end isn't nearing, because Hermione will now have to tell him what is causing his abysmal eye change.

  


  
He Apparates straight into the study and stares at the woman that doesn't even blink upon his sudden arrival. Apparation isn't exactly quiet, but she is just sitting on the couch again, reading vigorously. He narrows his eyelids, while undoing the charms that hide his 'Tom Riddle' features. Something is off here. He has been gone for an entire day and there isn't a single glass or plate on the table to suggest she ate or drank anything. Come to think of it, that has been the situation he found her in whenever he saw her reading the last couple of days, unlike before when there was always this automatically refilling bottle of pumpkin juice standing beside her. He stalks towards Hermione and looks at the book she is reading. The book, she is almost halfway through. It's that book on Everon Jewellery she requested. But that was ages ago. Even if he takes into account her wasting her time on his file, surely, she would have to have finished this book by now. Especially, considering that her speed in reading is quite astounding.

  


  
'Have you even eaten?'

  


  
She jerks in fright. And he grins. At least she is still responsive to his voice, but he notices her confusion when she looks at the clock. So she lost track of time too. That is another disturbing symptom. Let's see if she will add another, and he frowns when she does.

  


  
'No, but I am not hungry,' Hermione says quietly and she continues to read.

  


  
Not hungry after not eating for an entire day and immediately starting to read again. Make that two symptoms. He lifts her chin and gazes into her eyes. Yes, her pupils are darting back down in an attempt to continue reading. Rapidly, he snatches the book away from her.

  


  
'How long have you been reading this book?' he asks quietly.

  


  
'I am almost finished,' she replies, holding out her hand.

  


  
'Did you eat yesterday and the day before that? Or did that slip your mind like it did today?' he demands, tossing the book back and forth in his hands. He notes she follows the motion with her eyes. This is not good. He should have examined this book himself before allowing it to be brought to her.

  


  
'If I recall correctly you had other plans instead of eating,' Hermione responds. 'Do you mind? I am almost halfway through and I'd like to finish it before I go to sleep.'

  


  
'Halfway through?' he asks and he glares at the book. 'Show me where you are exactly.'

  


  
And he hands her the book back. She folds it open where she is and continues reading, instead of showing him. So he snatches it away again with increasing suspicion. Hermione is not stupid enough to just fail to follow his directives over something meaningless. She will oppose him only over important matters, not something this frivolous. He gazes into the girl's eyes and she seems rather annoyed with him at the moment. Annoyance… oh dear, this can become highly problematic. And he looks at the page number, before handing the book back to her. She reacts as obsessive as he was afraid of and starts reading immediately again. He waits for her to flip a leave and he, immediately, snatches the book away again. A sigh reaches his ears, while he looks at the stupid page again. As he thought, this will become problematic at best.

  


  
'You're still on the same page,' he says, showing her the book. She reaches out, but he pulls it away. She is not getting this one back. 'No touching, Granger. This is page 308 in the centre of the book. I recall seeing you read this book some days ago and you were already at the centre of it back then. Now, you just flipped a page and you're still on page 308. I think we may have a bit of a situation here that needs resolving.'

  


  
'What are you going on about? I learnt so much more about Everon Jewellery today that I haven't read yesterday. I can't be on the same page.'

  


  
Hermione tries to snatch the book away from him, but he holds it out of her reach immediately, raising his eyebrows. 'And you're acting rather peculiar around it,' he adds thoughtfully, 'somewhat obsessive even.'

  


  
His hand takes a hold of the necklace around her neck and he stares at the Amulet. 'Does it glow more while you read, Hermione?'

  


  
She shrugs. He can tell she thinks this is an utterly useless conversation.

  


  
'I think we better keep this book away from you,' he decides, folding his arms over each other. Waiting to see the, no doubt, aggravated responds. He is not disappointed.

  


  
Granger jumps to her feet in fury. 'No, are you crazy? We can't. It will contain all the answers we seek!'

  


  
'All the answers?' Voldemort says amused, but his hand has already found his wand and he is eyeing Hermione carefully. 'How do you know that, if you haven't read it yet?'

  


  
'I just know it does. It feels that way. I can learn it all in there,' she rants almost feverish.

  


  
Lord Voldemort looks back at the book in his hands. But he takes a step back when Hermione steps forward upon noticing the book. Calmly, he shakes his head. 'This book is feeding you an illusion, Hermione.'

  


  
'Give it back,' she hisses. 'I need to read it.'

  


  
Problematic and potentially dangerous, he adds in his mind. Damn, why hadn't he looked at this blasted Elf Book first? He keeps both of his eyes now firmly on the little witch before him. And it doesn't take Leglimency to understand, she is currently considering that she can read this book if he isn't around anymore. She has quite the murderous expression on her face. This is becoming too risky. She is too far gone for the gentle approach. He tosses the book on the floor.

  


  
'Incendio!'

  


  
Hermione lets out a dying, gruesome scream and runs to the flames, but he swirls his arms around her and holds her tight. However, the heel of her shoe comes into painful contact with his shin and he almost lets go of the struggling witch. Something, he cannot afford to do, because she can still salvage the book if she touches it through the flames. The flames will in turn burn her instead of the book. He has seen it happen to a wizard a long, long time ago. The wizard, happily, burned to crisp, while holding another magically addictive book in his hands and it remained in pristine condition. Voldemort had found it a very useful book at the time and made sure to drop it off in some muggle library.

  


  
'Don't, Hermione,' he says surprised at her strength at the moment. He is barely able to hold on to her wrists, while they plummet to the floor. 'Listen to me, Hermione. You have become addicted to that book. It tries to keep you reading it, until the day you die.'

  


  
But it is no use, she is not hearing him and when he feels her attempting to draw on their magic, he immobilises her body with it. He can hear her scream inside his head and he is certain she is in great need and dire pain, but he is not letting go. Instead he lifts her up in his arms and takes her to the living room, making certain to ward the study thoroughly. He holds her tightly until she finally falls asleep and he lets go to check if the book has been thoroughly disposed of. Only ashes remain in the study, but he is not fooled by that act. He has seen how ashes can reassemble themselves, so he uses a powerful curse to obliterate it completely, since he is not convinced a mere Scouring Charm will be efficient enough when magic such as this is involved. When he is satisfied there is no more threat he leaves for the kitchens. On his way to kill the House-elf, he placed in charge of getting her the books, for endangering Granger like this.  
  
---


	24. Chapter 24

**Fanfic disclaimer:** All those of you who've read Chelle's wonderful story Keogh will recognise a certain coarse phrase Hermione uses in this chapter. Shit-fire-mother-fucking-damn is owed and invented by Chelle, and I am just borrowing it once. To me it felt like the only thing Hermione could say at that moment in my story. If you haven't read Chelle's story Keogh at grangerenchanted dot com yet, then you're missing a terrific Hermione story (pair: Hermione-Cedric with Snape as… well, I won't spoil you). And this is coming from someone who normally only reads Hermione-Tom/LV stories, so me liking it is saying something. Warning: fic seems abandoned, now.

* * *

  


  
**The Bittersweet Taste of Victory**

  


  
_You only live twice or so it seems,  
  
One life for yourself and one for your dreams.  
  
You drift through the years and life seems tame,  
  
Till one dream appears and love is its name._

  


  
_And love is a stranger who'll beckon you on,  
  
Don't think of the danger or the stranger is gone.  
  
This dream is for you, so pay the price.  
  
Make one dream come true, you only live twice._

  


  
Nancy Sinatra; You only live twice

  


  
**Chapter twenty-four**

  


  
_A storm is approaching. Wind is howling through the trees as I stand in front of the gates of Everon. Darkness whirls around me, brushing my robes and hair. It's like a dark cloud that embraces me. Pain, fear and hatred are evidently present in the sky, but all I want is vengeance. I can feel it in the bones of my body. I can hear it pulsating through my veins. I can see it with my pitch-black eyes. This Kingdom is going down, one way or the other. I will tear down every last wall and every single brick inside and I will obliterate these elves from the face of the earth permanently._

  


  
_Nothing will remain; nothing._  
  
  
  
 _I see a small shadow moving from the corner of my eye. It's Kreacher. And his words ring through my brain. 'Everon Elves are not to be trusted, Mistress Hermione. Everon Elves are not to be trusted.'_

  


  
_But this is not news to me. I know what I have to do… I will do it now._

  


  
_'This is not our way, Hermione,' Yoda speaks._

  


  
_I turn to the small monk and smile. He is a beacon of light in a world that knows nothing but fear and angst. I once adored this man and what he stands for, but he is a fool._

  


  
_'This is the only way,' I reply certain._

  


  
_'If you say so…' he says questionably. 'But you will fail.'_

  


  
_'I never fail.'_

  


  
_Yoda says nothing in return, but I see the disappointment in his eyes. They're filled with sorrow and sadness. However, I am not letting him distract me of my goal. I came here to destroy this Kingdom and I will succeed. My hands rise in the air and I call upon every bit of magic around me. I summon it. I drain it all. And with every inch of skill I possess, I trust it all towards Everon. My darkness strikes the gates with all its might and my cold laugh accompanies the destruction when I watch the Kingdom and everyone in it being ripped to shreds entirely._

  


  
_Triumphant, I turn to Yoda; his powers I was unable to touch due to their Light origin, but it is irrelevant. Victory is mine._

  


  
_'I told you I would not fail,' I say smugly._

  


  
_'You just did,' he softly says and Apparates away._

  


  
I open my eyes and look around the empty bedroom. Once again I had a vivid nightmare. The repetition of the theme gives me the creeps. I try to shake the feeling, but I seem to be unable to lose it. Even worse is that I still want to obliterate Everon. My hands are trembling severely and I slide to the edge of the bed to sit there, hoping that another position will ease some of the pain I am feeling. What happened to me? One minute I am reading and… Voldemort!

  


  
I growl and take my pounding head in my hands. He nicked my book and he must have done this to me. Somehow. I have never wanted to kill before, but now I just feel very inclined to Apparate to Brazil and blast those bleeding elves to pieces. A soft green light glows against the insides of my eyelids, so I look down and stare at the stone. Sure, it is glowing. I had a nightmare and the damn thing is glowing. I roll back into the bed on my belly, covering my head with my hands. I need this to end. This stupid Amulet has to go. It is giving me a headache. A tall shadow falls over me and I groan when a hand softly lands on my neck.

  


  
'Good, you're finally awake,' Voldemort says calmly.

  


  
'If it isn't the book burner,' I snarl, when he sits down next to me.

  


  
'You're welcome.'

  


  
'You're welcome?' I repeat, flabbergasted. 'I have never approved of burning books.'

  


  
'You don't remember, do you?' he asks softly.

  


  
'Don't remember what?' I retort.

  


  
'Turn around,' he orders.

  


  
Oh, there we go again with the demanding and the bossing around. 'Go away. I have a headache.'

  


  
'I know. It is a very common symptom of withdrawal from addictive books.'

  


  
I peek through half opened eyelids, but all I see is my pillow and I bury my head back in it. Besides, I don't know what he is mumbling about, but I have never been addicted to anything. He rubs my neck gently. That feels really nice. I think I'll go back to sleep now.

  


  
'Hermione,' Voldemort says warningly, 'I need you to stay awake and turn around.'

  


  
I groan. Can't he just disappear? Maybe I shall make him disappear … yeah, that sounds like a wonderful plan. No more annoying disturbances. No more nagging when I am not feeling well. Sounds delightful. A brush of magic hits me. I am flipped over onto my back and pinned down on the bed. Really, now I am thoroughly pissed.

  


  
'What do you think you arehmmbgfdk…'

  


  
I struggle, cough and spit, while he continues to pour a potion down my throat calmly. I have never tasted anything like it, so I try not to swallow it, but only a bit of the disgusting draught gets spilled and the majority of it, whatever this is, makes it into my system. Voldemort's black eyes are looking amusedly at my futile attempts to wrestle free from his hold. So I stop wasting my energy and drink the rest without further resistance. He nods approvingly and strokes my hair.

  


  
'I see you have regained the ability to use your brain,' he says smirking.

  


  
Somebody hand me a gun now. But alas, I have no weapon at my disposal, so all I can do is glare at him, which seems to heighten his amusement. Even though he is annoying me to tears, I have to say that his handsome face turns even more attractive when he is enjoying himself. His jet-black hair seems to have an almost blue glow about it and the several tufts of grey in there really makes him more delectable. His pale skin is flawless and where it would make others seem sick, with him it fits and enhances his overall attraction. I won't even start to try and describe the delicate bone structure in his face, but he appears powerful, masculine and strong as a result of it.

  


  
However, those eyes of his… They are what draw you in. Those black pools of depth. You want to look in them forever and never let go. I can just drown in … eh, wait a second… What happened to his blood-red colour? And to my utter shock, I see the white of his eyes have stopped being completely bloodshot. There is still a hint of a gleam of red in them, but it is no longer the highlight of his eyes. Why have I not registered this previously? I can't believe this. He can start making Horcruxes soon and become immortal again. Shit. This is a disaster.

  


  
'There you go, dear,' he adds, pouring the last drop down my throat before placing the bottle on the nightstand. He moves back into a sitting position, releasing his hold over my body. So I take a swing with my fist at him, but he catches my arm and holds it tightly. 'Let's dispense of the muggle punching, shall we?'

  


  
'Fine, hand me a wand,' I hiss.

  


  
He smirks. 'You need to rest and gather your strength. You're in no state to duel, darling,' Voldemort says condescendingly.

  


  
'Well, then I suppose _you_ have nothing to worry about,' I snarl.

  


  
'I suppose not,' he says contemplatively. 'But it wouldn't be fair.'

  


  
I raise my eyebrows in mock surprise. Since when does he care about fairness?

  


  
'You owe me a life debt, and I will feel obliged to use that to my advantage and collect on it, if we are to start duelling,' Voldemort says.

  


  
'What life debt are you talking about?' I say, bemused.

  


  
'The one were I saved you from death by starvation and dehydration, because you wouldn't have wanted to get your nose out of that Everon Jewellery book ever again,' Voldemort replies casually. 'You owe me, Hermione. A wonderful thing, don't you agree?'

  


  
Now, I am thoroughly confused. 'What are you talking about?' I ask again, pushing myself up in a seated position.

  


  
'The Elfin book was bewitched. I am assuming you've heard of addictive books before?'

  


  
I nod slowly.

  


  
'This was one of them.'

  


  
I shake my head. 'It couldn't have been, I would have noticed,' I disagree.

  


  
'Without being able to use your magic?'

  


  
I frown. It couldn't have been an addictive book. He is playing me. He always is. This has to be one of his schemes.

  


  
'Think back, Hermione,' Voldemort says quietly. 'Think about everything that happened since you obtained that book for the first time and compare it to the known symptoms.'

  


  
Addictive books, Professor Snape spent an entire lesson on Dark Arts Items such as these. I remember the lesson very clearly, because Ron started commenting that he knew of a book where he would have liked Snape to stick his greasy nose in. It was very annoying and disturbing, especially after Harry started to add suggestions to Ron's ideas. The Professor quickly put a stop to it and Snape sneeringly assured them that they could serve detention with him for disrupting his lesson despite the fact, and I quote, he was very much aware of them not needing of this information anyway, because he did not consider them at risk from reading anything besides my notes in the first place.

  


  
I also recall the lengthy chapter in Confronting the Faceless about such books. They work gradually, step by step luring the reader in. At first, you can still put the book away yourself, but pretty quickly you won't want to do that anymore. And you try to keep reading even in the most ridiculous circumstances. The next stage is that you only put the book away when someone else tells you. You can no longer do it yourself. But you are still in the clear as long as you don't pick it up again.

  


  
After a while this expands and you start to think of the book continuously if you are not reading it. You'll think it will contain the answers to the universe, and at a certain point, you hit the pivotal point. Then, you can no longer put it away and someone else can't order you to do so either. You will try to do what it takes to remain reading, even if that means killing everyone who stands between you and your book. You'll lose interest in everything else. You forget to eat, drink, sleep, bath… And eventually you will die because of this. You want the book. You need the book. Even though you are no longer progressing in it, but you don't notice that part anymore. Your reality is blurred and you think you are reading new things when all you do is read the same page over and over again; the pivotal page. Suddenly, I remember.

  


  
_'You're still on the same page. No touching, Granger. This is page 308 in the centre of the book. I recall seeing you read this book some days ago and you were already at the centre of it back then. Now, you just flipped a page and you're still on page 308. I think we may have a bit of a situation here that needs resolving.'_

  


  
I gasp and slam my hand in front of my mouth. Oh Circe, I read a same page over and over again. And earlier on, I made the book hover in midair, so I could keep on reading, while Voldemort was kissing me and… I didn't want to eat, when he told me some other time we were going to. And I wanted to kill him when he tried to keep the book away from me. I wanted it back. I needed it back. No wonder it took me so long to finish Tom Riddle's file. The stupid Elfin book was interfering. It could have killed me. Uncertain, my eyes dart upward to Voldemort in clear acknowledgement of his earlier statement. Bloody hell, I owe him a life debt; _Him._ Worried about the consequences, I bite my lip. _Shit._

  


  
Lord Voldemort cups my cheek and caresses my face. 'I am glad we finally agree on the situation,' he says smirking. 'It would displease me thoroughly if we were to misunderstand one another here.'

  


  
I have to find some way out from underneath this. I have to. Got it!

  


  
'I don't owe you a thing,' I state triumphantly.

  


  
'Oh?' he responds, amused.

  


  
'You were the reason I was reading that book, so you are the one who endangered my life to begin with,' I say smirking. 'No life debt is owed when the person responsible for the peril is the one who does the saving.'

  


  
Pleased with myself, I fold my arms over each other and I am considering keeping the smirk as a permanent feature on my face. Until I see his joyous expression, which makes my pleasure fade rapidly. I push my body back into the pillow that rests behind me when Voldemort leans towards me with a mischievous glint in his eyes. Apprehensively, my eyes dart sideways between my two shoulders where he places his slender hands beside. They have lost that spidery look when he Transfigured his old features back, but those hands are still very capable of performing everything they did before. I don't even notice that I have slid down a bit when Voldemort's handsome face halts inches away from me. I can see the white of his dark eyes and there isn't a single spot of red in them at the moment. He locks me with his gaze and my breath stays frozen inside my chest. Shit. I overlooked something.

  


  
'You were the one who asked for those books, Hermione, I did not force them on you. Hence, I did not cause the peril you are referring to,' he says smoothly.

  


  
'You wanted me to research your no longer scary eye issues,' I say, determined not to lose my ground. 'Hence, I needed those books. Hence, you caused the peril I was in.'

  


  
'Hmmm…' he muses. 'If I recall correctly, it was not an order of me, but a deal. You would tell me one thing and I would inform you about something you wanted to know. So you chose to be in this peril yourself.'

  


  
'I never chose to be in this peril at all,' I sneer. 'This is all your doing.'

  


  
A tense silence greets my sneer, until he finally responds, shrugging about the loss of his life debt. 'I suppose I have to concede to that.'

  


  
Voldemort is now eyeing me in a manner that makes me wonder if he is pleased I found a way out from underneath his debt, because he cocks his head slightly and is smiling at me with a distinct twinkle in his dark eyes. He really looks attractive this way. I wish he would change back. His snakelike, inhuman features are much easier to deal with, especially after you've got used to seeing them. This handsome façade is creeping me out. It's such a contradiction to his character, it is uncanny. It is so easy to forget who he truly is when he looks like this. I really don't get why he changed it. He would have had far more female Death Eaters if he kept this appearance.

  


  
'Would I now?' Voldemort says deviously. 'But you're all I want, Hermione.'

  


  
I growl out of frustration for his intrusion into my privacy. 'The feeling is not mutual,' I sneer.

  


  
'I think it is,' he whispers in my ear. 'I think, you like what you see and are having a hard time acknowledging to yourself that you want me.'

  


  
I do not feel the need to respond to that idiotic statement. I don't get the chance either. His lips are already crushing down on mine with a hunger like he hasn't tasted me before. With a swift move he pulls me down and places his body on top of me, kissing me relentlessly while his hands are teasing my body with magic. I moan inside his mouth and my hands move to his head. I do love that hair of his. Oh Godric, why can't he be a normal, nice man who kisses like this? Another brush of magic makes me arch toward him violently and my eyes flutter shut. A deep groan leaves my throat as I feel a severe ache rising below and I need him inside of me as soon as possible. It's when Voldemort leaves my mouth slowly and stills his manipulation of my body. I open my eyes to stare straight into two very amused ones.

  


  
'As I said,' Voldemort casually speaks in victory, 'you want me, Granger.'

  


  
With an elegant swing he is of the bed and swirls out of the bedroom, leaving me flabbergasted and thoroughly unsatisfied on the bed. After a considerable amount of time has passed I am finally able to construct a single reasonable thought: nutcase.

  


  
Yes, that is absolutely the correct word to use for him. He is absolutely bonkers and … a bloody tease. So I go to the bathroom to take a much needed cold shower. Prick.

  


  
For a brief moment I glance at my reflection in the bathroom's mirror as I pass it. My eyes are almost black now. I can only see a shimmer of brown in them. I bite my lip and shiver shortly, before shrugging and taking that much needed shower. It's not like I know or understand why it is happening, so I can't help it if my soul is darkening. I wish I knew what it was that caused it and I look at the blasted Amulet contemplatively. Maybe it's the stupid stone? Or maybe it is just Voldemort getting underneath my skin? I sigh and hit my head on the wall repeatedly. I don't feel different, I think. I am still me, ain't I?

  


  
When I finally make it to the dinning room to have breakfast, Voldemort has just finished and he is eyeing me with a devilish glint. Well, he is nothing short of the devil, so…

  


  
'Enjoyed your shower, darling?' he asks snickering, interrupting my train of thought.

  


  
I take my usual chair without responding to his pun and take a sandwich from the ridiculously large pile for two people, but I am quite hungry. I take a bite when I realised I am being watched thoroughly. I look sideways to where he lazily sits and I arch an eyebrow at him questioningly.

  


  
'It's good to see you have an appetite again,' he says calmly to my unspoken question. 'It means you've overcome the effects of the book fully.'

  


  
'Is it gone completely?' I ask him.

  


  
'The Everon Jewellery book?'

  


  
I nod.

  


  
'Yes,' he slowly says, frowning, 'why so interested?'

  


  
'I wanted to know if it was safe for me to return to your study. I still have lots of reading to do,' I reply casually.

  


  
'You dare?' he asks teasingly.

  


  
'I've obviously wasted enough time the past few days with reading nonsense,' I retort cheeky, since it wasn't just the Elfin book I was reading.

  


  
He picks up on my pun in regards to his file and smirks. 'If you want to read something really interesting, Hermione,' he snickers, 'why don't you try this?'

  


  
And he waves his wand around. With a thud a voluminous red file with gold trimmed letters drops next to my plate. Hermione Jean Granger, 1991-1997 it says. Frowning, I look at my Hogwarts' file. It's definitely thicker than his and I missed an entire school year. I am not sure I want to know what is in there. If he is offering it to me, it can't possibly be anything good.

  


  
'Funny,' I say, 'but I remember what I did back then.'

  


  
'Ah,' Voldemort sighs, 'but you may not be aware of the perspective certain others had of your doings.'

  


  
And he whips his wand, making the leaves turn. I recognise the fine script of Albus Dumbledore from the corner of my eye, but I pretend not to be interested at all and eat another sandwich. Voldemort snorts and leans forward. He pulls the file towards him with his left hand, while his right hand cups his face to support it with his elbow on the table casually. He is pretending to be thoroughly entranced by the sentences in my file, like he doesn't have a single clue to what's in there. Irritated, I glance at his casual posture. The man had too much practise using his good looks to the best of his advantage. I'm so glad I wasn't in Hogwarts simultaneously with him. I thought dealing with Draco and his noisy groupies was bad. I can't begin to imagine what entourage Tom Riddle would have procured. But it would have been no doubt aggravating and distracting, like the annoying trail that followed Viktor around in my fourth year. I never got any work done in the library that year due to those giggling fools.

  


  
'You'd expect Minnie's handwriting in your file, since she was the deputy headmistress in your days,' Voldemort drawls. 'But look at the wonderful, exuberant script we have here,' he adds mocking. 'It seems our grand ex-headmaster took time from his important, busy schedule to add some nice comments to a permanent student record. Care to hear his observations about you, Hermione? Don't tell me you're not interested to hear what he thinks of the girl, who saved his boy wonder's arse multiple times before Potter made a fool of himself?'

  


  
'Don't drag Harry into this,' I hiss.

  


  
'I am not dragging Potter into this; Dumbledore is … in your record,' Voldemort says and he pushes the file over to me expectantly.

  


  
Unable to resist the temptation my eyes dart over the sentences before me and I totally miss the small, satisfied smile that flies over Voldemort's face. Slowly, all colour starts to drain from my face as I read what is undoubtedly Albus Dumbledore's handwriting. I've seen it enough to recognise it. The words he uses to describe me are not very flattering. I check the date again. He wrote this during my fifth year. Right after I complained to him about Umbridge's barbaric punishments and the lack of action from any of the adults against it. So I was a bit pissed then... But there really is no need to overreact about it, like Dumbledore is doing in these sentences. I continue cautiously, because I am getting a bit concerned about what will come next. I swallow and it feels like someone punched me harshly in the stomach when I read the sentences Voldemort must have been referring to.

  


  
_The threat remains that Hermione Granger's darker tendencies combined with her thirst for knowledge may cause harm to Harry and his noble cause. It would not surprise me in the least if the girl is harbouring an agenda of her own. Her likeness to Tom Riddle in her reactions is startling similar as she just practically ordered me to get rid of a teacher. And should Lord Voldemort ever find her I have no doubt in my mind that she will hand over Harry Potter to him in a heartbeat for the mere chance of gaining access to his vast library on the Dark Arts._

  


  
Fuming, I fly to my feet. I… I hand over Harry! Says the person who did nothing but throw Harry in the line of fire, while he remained at the sidelines continuously! The adult who let children do the fighting for him! The absolute nerve of that… that…plotting, scheming, manipulative coot! Oh, he is so lucky Snape threw him of the tower before I read this vile bullshit. I hope he rots in hell. I snatch a bottle of pumpkin juice of the table and swirl out of the room to read something from the vast library, which I, apparently, would betray everyone for. Weeks and weeks and weeks of torture I endured, while Voldemort dangled his books in front of me as my salvation, but I waited for the protection of the Amulet so I wouldn't succumb to his books and the threat they pose to me, and then, to read this… this!

  


  
Furious, I slam the door of Voldemort's study hard. How dare he? How dare Dumbledore accuse me of betraying my friends without as much as a single question to his own sanity in thinking it? I'll Nitwit, Blubber, Oddment, Tweak him. I kick the table in anger, but now my toe hurts too and I am shaking my leg to relieve the hurt when I hear a soft chuckle coming behind me. I swirl around and glare at He-Who-Is-The- Source-Of-All-My-Aggravation.

  


  
Voldemort is standing in the doorway, leaning against the rim with his shoulder in an utmost nonchalant display. Despite my furious mood all I can think is: yummy. I scowl at myself and my foolish thoughts. Yes, the man definitely had too much practise using his looks.

  


  
'If you think for a moment I am going to fall for this ridiculous, mindless trap you're trying to make me walk into, mister,' I snarl, advancing upon him, 'than you've got another thing coming. You manipulative, scheming bastard.'

  


  
'I,' he says, with clear emphasis on the pronoun, 'I never said nor pretended to be otherwise with you, which is not something that can be said for everybody else around you.'

  


  
Still angry I grumble somewhat underneath my breath in return, because I really don't have a witty reply to his correct statement there.

  


  
'Besides,' he adds, eyeing me thoughtfully, 'I would never have been so foolish to make the mistake of seeing you as the weakest link around Potter.'

  


  
Voldemort pushes himself of the rim and I take a step backwards, but he closes the distance between us swiftly. My heart skips a beat as I look up into his oh so delectable face. No, I am not that shallow. I can practically hear Ron cough Lockheart again and I move backward even further. It's this compatible magic thing, that's what this is… nothing else. But I feel my heart racing, betraying my true feelings as I push them desperately away underneath the lit they need to be under. I need to clear my head. I need to keep thinking. I need to … not entrap myself against a windowsill! His hands land on either side of my body, boxing me in completely.

  


  
'Where will you go now, Hermione?' he asks teasingly.

  


  
I stare at him. The magic inside of me is pulling me towards him and a part of me wants to do nothing more than just snog him senseless. I do remember our previous times together and they were unbelievable. I just want to forget everything and jump all over this extremely attractive, hot… Oh fuck, now I need another cold shower again. Oh what the hell do I care? I need to get some initiative in this twisted relationship. So I jump in his arms. To my utter amusement, I see shock running over his face as he stumbles backwards from the sudden extra weight he now needs to carry. But he holds me tight, while regaining his balance.

  


  
'Forward,' I answer snickering.

  


  
'Obviously,' Voldemort mutters.

  


  
However, I do not let him utter another word, because my hands have taken a hold of his head and I press my mouth on his, kissing him exuberantly. His hold of my body tightens as his fingers dig deep into my skin. Finally, we break the passionate kiss, both gasping for air and slowly, I allow my body to glide down against his with a mischievous smile on my face. He is looking down at me with an uneasy frown, but I will have that frown removed in seconds. Quickly, I unbutton his robe and I can feel him tense up as I take his member in my hand. Now, now, it's a bit too late to get all shy around me.

  


  
A sharp intake of breath accompanies my strokes and I smirk. Time to use my mouth here. A deep moan follows my ministrations and I start by licking his erect tip teasingly. He shifts on his feet and grabs a hold of my hair with one hand in an attempt to no doubt regain some form of control over the situation. I beat him to his idea and allow his penis to enter my mouth fully. I can feel him restraining himself from bucking against me. I would have never thought in advance that sucking the Dark Lord's cock would grant me such a delightful feeling of power and control over the situation I am in, but it does and as much as I like being in control normally, I want him to force me now. I want him to dominate and manipulate me to do all kinds of things no good Gryffindor girl should.

  


  
Fortunately, this good Gryffindor girl is currently kneeling in front of the most evil wizard of all time, so I'll probably get my twisted, little wish when I slowly withdraw from him. A frustrated groan from him makes my stomach flutter and his grip of my hair tightens as I look up. I can tell he was about to force me to continue, but now he watches me expectantly. I am going to give him the shock of a lifetime.

  


  
'Force me, my Lord,' I whisper. 'My body is yours. Do with me as you please.'

  


  
He blinks and gazes down at me. 'You have no idea what you're offering, Hermione. I won't stop and I won't be kind.'

  


  
Screw kindness, I want him to use me. I am burning up here. I don't need pity. I need someone to ravish me. I want to be out of control, like the other night… that felt magnificent.

  


  
'I know, master,' I whisper demure. 'I've lied to you, punish me.'

  


  
'You've lied to me?' he says disbelievingly, amusement darting through his eyes at my dreadful acting skills.

  


  
'When your eyes are back to normal, it means your soul is healed completely,' I blatantly state.

  


  
'You already told me as much, dear,' he responds teasingly, not acknowledging my little play here.

  


  
'I only said there was a link between the eyes and the soul. I apologise effusively for not being more forthcoming, master.'

  


  
'I see…' he slowly says and my insides make a joyous jump when his tone turns threatening. 'This is a most vile and outrageous act of you.'

  


  
I nod excitedly. I totally concur that assessment. 'Yes, my Lord. I've been such a bad girl. I need to be spanked.'

  


  
'Oh… I think I can find something a bit more fitting for your punishment, little liar,' he sneers and he pushes my head back to his cock. 'Last chance to change your mind, Granger,' he offers. 'Remember who you're offering your body's full use to. I won't stop after I start. No matter how hard you beg me or how much you would want me to.'

  


  
I growl in frustration. Bloody talkative evil overlords. How many times do I need to say it? Why can't they just get a move on? It's like in the movies. They chat, and chat, and chat some more, until all their enemies have escaped.

  


  
'Very well, I'll take it that growl means you are mine now. Continue your work, witch.'

  


  
He presses my head around his cock forcefully. I continue sucking and relieving him, while his magic swirls around me and presses my body together, holding it in place when Voldemort starts to move inside of me. Now, he is not holding back and he hits the back of my throat harshly, stroke after stroke after stroke.

  


  
'That's it, Mudblood, suck me,' Voldemort hisses with a groan. 'Service your master, witch.'

  


  
His words are turning me on tremendously and I adore how his cock feels in my mouth, it's so filling. I swirl my tongue around his hardened penis as I suck on his flesh. So good. I gag when he pumps even further down my throat and holds my head there, suffocating me.

  


  
'Your life belongs to me, witch,' he snarls, while I turn light-headed and continue to have gag reflexes.

  


  
'You will learn that every breath you are allowed to take…' and he pulls me back slightly so I can take in a couple of breaths, right before he pushes my head back into the same position and I gag again, 'is to pleasure me, Mudblood.'

  


  
The world starts to swirl around me.

  


  
'And your mouth feels so right around me. It's what it was made for, Granger.'

  


  
He pulls my head back again, so I can breathe, but he doesn't exit my mouth. I gasp around him and he yanks my hair, sending me a clear warning to do what he wants, so I start to lick him again, caressing his genitals with my hands where my mouth can not reach.

  


  
'The Daily Prophet will have an interesting obituary to place tomorrow, if you do not satisfy my needs properly,' he sneers and he thrust back down my throat, giving me that wonderful feeling of total loss of control, of being at his mercy. My light-headiness is back and it is such a sensual sensation. He withdraws slightly.

  


  
'Make me come, witch,' he orders.

  


  
So I suck him vigorously. Hearing him groan and feeling his legs twitch, while he shifts to adjust his weight, makes me even hornier and I press my lower body against his legs, because it aches severely due to all this. 'Going to hump me like the dog you are, Granger?' he hisses.

  


  
And a deep groan leaves me, because his nasty remarks are causing my blood to flow more extensively to the lower regions of my body. I can feel the spasms of his member in my mouth and a muffled moan leaves my mouth in anticipation of being able to taste him again. I close my eyes when he spills his semen inside of me and it whirls on my tongue deliciously. I practically come myself on the spot when he steps back suddenly.

  


  
A flicker of magic and he is completely covered up again. He smirks down viciously at my dishevelled appearance and a small gesture of his hand clarifies that he wants me to rise. I scramble to my feet somewhat unstable, because I'd rather he just push me on that desk he is now leaning against casually and have his wicked ways with me.

  


  
'Strip,' he commands with a small smile.

  


  
Oh no, that will take too long, just rip my clothes of me, I am burning up here. A devious twinkle darts through his eyes and he chuckles. 'If you want me to take you, Hermione, you better do precisely what I say when I say it. Now, strip,' he says and his mouth curls upward.

  


  
I start pulling of my robes when his magic halts me. 'Slowly, darling. There is no rush,' he calmly states.

  


  
'Easy for him to say, he just had some,' I think resentful, while I continue to undress more slowly.

  


  
'Tsk, tsk, tsk, manners, dear. Those are highly improper thoughts for a lady. And may I remind you that I am not here for your pleasure,' he drawls, amused, placing his arms behind his head.

  


  
I have my robe halfway over my head when I notice him more thoroughly. Wow, Merlin, fuck, he really is hot, the way he just sits there in that casual posture with his black robes falling elegantly around his desirable frame. His slender hands with those experienced fingers, which are, I might add, completely wasting their time by supporting his wavy jet-black haired head when they could in fact be touching me. I really want to jump that delectable body of his and snog him senseless. I toss my robe to the side and take a step in his direction, but he shakes his head teasingly.

  


  
'I did not allow you to approach me, Hermione, continue where you stand.'

  


  
When I am finally done undressing, I feel incredibly vulnerable as his eyes are raking over my naked figure meticulously with that blank expression of his. Naturally, he is taking his time. Aroused by this display of control over me, I am literally bouncing on my feet. I think I am going to explode soon. Yeah, definitely.

  


  
He smirks. 'A bit eager are we?' he inquires in a false sweet tone of voice.

  


  
Oh damn.

  


  
He sticks out his right leg. 'Why don't you show my leg how much you love me … little canine,' he says wickedly.

  


  
It is not a question, but an order and I merely glare at him. You've got to be kidding me. I am dripping with desire here and he wants me to hump his leg? But his dark eyes dart between his leg and me, signalling me to get a move on or else… Slowly, I approach him and kneel down cautiously before him. His hand pats my head.

  


  
'Yessss, that is a good doggy,' he hisses patronising when I take a hold of his leg and start moving.

  


  
My cheeks are a deep shade of crimson from the humiliation as I dry hump his leg, while his hand remains on my head, patting me like I am some domestic animal. But somewhere inside of me, I draw great satisfaction and enjoyment out of his condescending treatment of me. It arouses me again and I am definitely leaving stains on his immaculate black pants. I close my eyes and my head tilts backward as I press my pelvis against his leg, rubbing myself to completion, while he has excellent view of my bouncing breasts.

  


  
'Yes, that's it, my pet,' Voldemort says, moaning satisfied about my performance.

  


  
His fingers are massaging the back of my neck in a tantalising manner when I start to shake as I am nearing my orgasm. 'Oh no, you don't,' he breathes cruelly.

  


  
I yelp when Lord Voldemort, abruptly, yanks me by my hair to my feet, not allowing me to achieve my release. And I groan in utter disappointment. I am so fucking horny I could hump the Giant Squid for all I care at the moment. Though what I am looking at right now is far more attractive than said animal. Only his face does not forebode pleasure. It has a savage expression that makes my stomach cringe in fear. He swirls toward me and his other hand comes to rest around my neck, squeezing it roughly as he lifts me up from the ground a little bit, making me balance on my toes, so he won't choke me entirely.

  


  
'Did I tell you that you could climax against me, servant?' he hisses.

  


  
I wince at the tone and I shake my head fervently. 'I am sorry, master,' I reply somewhat squeaky due to his hold on my windpipe.

  


  
'You're sorry,' he sneers. 'Well, sorry doesn't cut it, Granger. I'll show you sorry.'

  


  
And he drags me off by my hair brutally, all the while sneering at me how sorry I am going to be before he is done _'explaining'_ extensively what my true position and standing is here. Merciless, he throws me over the back of the couch in the study. I plummet down, shrieking in pain, because he is still holding on to my hair that is wrapped firmly in his fist now.

  


  
'Stop your whining, witch. You wanted me, you got me,' he snaps into my ear, making my skin crawl.

  


  
Lord Voldemort pulls me upward against the armrest by my hair, causing several tears to spring from my eyes unwanted, as he forces my body into a semi lying position. He is standing behind me when his free hand waves across the air above my upper body. I feel his magic entering me right before he casts some spell. I gasp, before my minds whirls into an almost intoxicated state. The entire room disappears and all I see in focus is him.

  


  
'Spread your legs,' he orders.

  


  
I comply immediately. Finally, we are getting somewhere, because something definitely needs to be done about the ache I am experiencing and I am not talking about him almost yanking all my hair out. So I spread my legs as far as this couch will allow me, but that is not satisfying him. 'Further,' he barks.

  


  
I place one leg over the couch's back, while the other comes to rest on the floor. Suddenly, chains are forming themselves around my ankles and across my thighs. A wave of Voldemort's wand and it feels like he is trying to pull my legs out of my hip-joints so wide he is spreading them. Other shackles wrap themselves around my shoulders and chest, pulling me firmly apart and into the couch. This must be one of the weirdest postures I've ever been in and I wonder what Voldemort has planned, because I can't move an inch in this semi sitting, semi laying position. Well, I can move my head and arms a bit, since he didn't bond my wrists for some reason. I recognise the wand-movements of the Summoning Charm, while he moves around and looks down at me with delight. He sits down beside me and smiles at me.

  


  
'You look nice when your naked body is all tied up and at my disposal,' he says smoothly. His hand is tracing the contours of my body, pinching my nipples, going further down between my folds. 'So wet you are for me,' he concludes rightfully, stroking my clit.

  


  
Now, I wish I could move, because I have this instinctive response to buck against his caress, which I can't. My hands reach out to touch him. 'Hands above your head,' he snaps, when he sees what I am planning. Like a reflex so fast, I respond to his order and my hands come to rest on top of my head. 'Move them again and they will be bound as well,' Voldemort says warningly.

  


  
He continues his manipulation between my legs, all the while smiling at me in a rather strange, anticipatory manner. I moan when his finger enters me and he moves it around against my walls ruthlessly. Oh fuck… this is bliss and yet it leaves me wanting more… wanting him… Damn, I need something a bit more filling now. He pinches my clit with his thumb, making me scream out loud and grab onto my hair with my own fingers, almost pulling them out by their roots, but I don't even realise it, because my god… this feels so good. I let out a deep groan and tilt my head backward. It's all the movement he is allowing me and it is antagonising.

  


  
'So responsive,' Voldemort breathes on my skin, 'so very receptive to my every move.'

  


  
I gasp when he sucks my nipples one at the time. 'So beautifully submissive and yet…' he halts with a malevolent smile, '…so very stubborn and disobedient. We need to fix that rebellious part of your character, my dear. You need to be thought a lesson into true servitude.'

  


  
His tongue trails to my navel and he dips into it, making me shiver as my belly sends all kinds of signals to the rest of my body. I feel like I am on fire. I can't take much more of this. How long is he going to keep teasing me like this?

  


  
'You want to learn, don't you Hermione?'

  


  
'Yes, my Lord,' I reply fast.

  


  
Another pinch of my clit makes me scream again. 'You want me to teach you how to behave properly, don't you?'

  


  
'Oh yes, teach me, master,' I moan. 'And quickly please, because I am dying here,' I think.

  


  
'You want me to take you, don't you? Ravish you with my cock. Plunge inside of you and rip you apart, until you scream for mercy,' he suggests.

  


  
Yes, those ideas will do nicely. All of them.

  


  
'You want me to fill you up and ram into you, until you can only walk with a gap-legged step from hereon,' he continues smoothly, kissing my throat.

  


  
Oh for crying out loud, a little more action and a little less talking would be highly appreciated here! I am already lying here, naked, with my legs spread. How much more access does he need?

  


  
'Well, your punishment will be that you aren't getting any of it, darling,' he whispers against my throat.

  


  
'What?' I roar desperately.

  


  
A vial flies into his hand and he looks at me happily. 'You heard me,' he whispers evilly against my lips. 'Open wide.'

  


  
He presses the Potions' bottle against my lips and I glare at it anxiously.

  


  
'Do as you are told, slave,' he snarls harshly. 'You placed yourself at my disposal, so obey your master.'

  


  
And I drink the potion. I recognise the smell and the distinct flavour from Culthrop's descriptions. He is feeding me a very potent Lust Potion. Oh Merlin, I am already climbing up the walls without it. When the last drop has entered my mouth, he kisses me, demanding access and I oblige willingly. I do love the way he kisses, it's delicious. His hand touches me between my folds again and his fingers manipulate themselves inside of me. I moan into his mouth. Oh yes, right there… Suddenly, I feel like I am about to explode and Voldemort withdraws from me completely and rises from the couch. He is watching me meticulously as the Lust Potion has made it to my bloodstream and is now affecting every inch of my body.

  


  
I close my eyes at the overwhelming sensation when something presses into my stomach. It's a bloody book! Well, it explains why he left my wrists untied, but really...

  


  
'You will read this and I will be back to question you,' he states simply.

  


  
'Are you crazy?' I bellow. 'I can't read let alone concentrate like this.'

  


  
But he ignores my outburst and continues. 'I need an answer to why my skin hasn't aged and I think you can help me here, because I really can't be bothered to research such a small issue myself. I used the Transfiguration method on page forty-four with some minor alterations.'

  


  
He starts to walk away. 'Eh!' I shout. 'What alterations?'

  


  
'You'll figure it out,' he says deviously as he faces me again. 'Failure to answer my questions will result in the continuation of your predicament. You better solve it fast, Hermione, if you want a climax anytime soon today.'

  


  
And he leaves the study laughing loudly, while I am lying here in this ridiculous pose, burning with desire that is increasing by the second. Oh, he is definitely evil and this … this has to be his vilest act yet. Yeah, even more so than all the killings, Crucios and other Dark Arts' acts he engaged in, because even though my hands are free, I won't even be able to relieve myself, because he personalised the Lust Potion when he fondled and kissed me during its activation. I feel my heart racing and the throbbing inside of my pelvic region is becoming more agonising with every ragged breath I take. I better start reading, before I lose the ability to. What page was his stupid Transfiguration on again? Oh great… my brain is already impaired. Something forty. Lust is making me twitch as I flip the leaves and I lick my swollen lips with my tongue subconsciously.

  


  
I start reading at page forty, but it is hard with the distraction as my body grows more and more aroused. However, when I hit page forty-four, I just know this would have been his choice of Transfiguration considering the dark nature of said method and the promise of a 'scary' appearance. I roll my eyes at this when the next sensation hits. A tingling sensation flows across my skin, making me crave contact and I drop the book in my lap forgetting I can't satisfy my need. But when I touch myself that omission of my mind is quickly reaffirmed, because it is not helping me out here. I close my eyes, toss my head backwards and groan in despair. I want to be able to move my body. I want him to touch me. I want him inside of me. I need to read that damn book, but I can't. But I have to. Oh no, I can't.

  


  
_'Oooohhh,'_ I moan when the muscles of my belly tighten and my walls clench … at nothing. The sheer emptiness is making me scream. My heart is pounding inside my chest painfully. The fast pulsation of my veins thrusts the Lust Potion past every organ, every cell of my body, over and over again. It makes me quiver in wantonness. My hands slam into the couch frustrated, I trash against the bonds he placed on my body, and my head sways sideways in some feeble attempt to release some of the physical energy I have, which is building up too. I need to find answers or I'll stay like this till I have a heart attack. Oh fuck, I am burning up. Unsteadily, I launch my hand at the book, pick it up when… I have this sudden need to suck on something and I drop the book, stick my fingers in my mouth, but it isn't helping. I need to read, so I can undo this predicament I am in.

  


  
I look down and to my utter frustration I've dropped the book to the floor. So much for reading. I am so fucking screwed now. And I just lie there in wait for his arrival as I become aroused beyond my wildest dreams. It feels like my head is going to explode along with my genitals. My heart feels like it wants to exit my body through my ribcage and sweat is dripping all over my skin. My logical brain shuts down as my body goes into overdrive. And I sincerely doubt I could have figured out anything for him in this condition anyway.

  


  
The bastard must have known this in advance when he ordered me to read the book. It isn't the only thing about him that is aggravating me, because the blasted halfblood also takes his time in returning back to the study. I can't stress out enough how much I hate his hypocritical arse, because Mr High-and-Mighty doesn't come back into the study until AN WHOLE HOUR has passed! And then, he strolls towards me, tauntingly slow. He does get off on tormenting me. This proofs it. His dark eyes light up when Lord Voldemort takes in my desperate condition meticulously and an utterly pleased expression forms on his face when he sees the book on the ground.

  


  
'What's the matter, Mudblood? Can't your kind multitask?' he sneers condescendingly. I can tell by his entire attitude he has been expecting this outcome and is thoroughly delighted with my complete and utter humiliation. Though, he isn't done yet.

  


  
'Please,' I beg and I reach out for him, but he has made certain to be just out of my arm's range.

  


  
'Please?' he repeats mocking. 'Such an extensive vocabulary you have there ... Did those muggles forget to put you through kindergarten?'

  


  
'Help me,' I add, not caring about anything else except getting some. From him. Now.

  


  
'Where are your manners, witch? Address me properly or suffer the consequences,' and he turns on his heels.

  


  
'No! Don't leave me, master, my Lord, my everything,' I panic and he halts on the spot. 'I can't take anymore. Please, please…'

  


  
Smirking, he swoops towards me and sits down beside me in a blink of an eye. Instinctively, I try to pull him against me, but a lazy wave of his hand yanks my hands above my head roughly and I lie there, completely bound, incapacitated, helpless and at his mercy. Something he isn't famous for of having … at all. I hold my breath when he leans towards me. It's in vain, because he halts inches away from me, teasing me with his proximity without relieving me an ounce.

  


  
'So I am your everything,' he repeats, amused.

  


  
If it would have been possible, my head would have turned even redder, but I already reached the limits of that colour ages ago. However, Voldemort lets out a short laugh at my feelings of embarrassment and he winks at me. He actually has the nerve to wink at me. I growl.

  


  
'Would you want me to do everything to you, Hermione?' he breathes on my skin, making me writhe at the sensation as he blows his breath all the way down over my body.

  


  
'Yes,' I breathe back. 'My Lord,' I add quickly, seeing the malevolent flash in his eyes.

  


  
'I kind of liked you calling me your everything, little one,' he says in a low tone of voice, and at last… he touches me and strokes the side of my body with his right hand. It makes me want him so much I could burst.

  


  
'It sort of implies that you would do everything for me as well, wouldn't you agree?' he adds.

  


  
'Sure whatever, just don't stop touching me,' I think, quivering extremely as his hands are caressing my breasts. He kisses my throat, causing all sorts of exquisitely electrical sensations to flow to my brain. My eyes flutter shut and I moan from the bottom of my heart.

  


  
'I'll satisfy you, Hermione,' he whispers against my ear, tempting me thoroughly with the tickling feeling it is leaving behind. 'All you have to do is surrender your mind to me,' he adds smoothly, like he is asking for something as meaningless and simple as the daily paper.

  


  
However, there seems to click something in that one brain cell of me that is still capable of functioning properly, because I am not falling into his trap. I scowl. Abruptly, I turn my head to face him furiously and he quirks an eyebrow.

  


  
'Hmmm… still stubborn and disobedient, aren't you?' he snickers. 'I'll have to correct that attitude of yours.'

  


  
Swiftly, he moves his mouth to my breast and I trash and scream as he licks and sucks on my nipple, causing my lower body to buck toward him despite of the firm restraints on my limbs. Deviously, he looks upward. 'Changed your mind yet?'

  


  
'Fuck!'

  


  
'Not the correct answer,' he grins.

  


  
And my other breast receives the same treatment, making me think that all those other brain cells of mine maybe right and that the one who thinks it is not a good idea to give into him on this matter is clearly in the minority for a reason. It must be a faulty cell. He hits me with his magic as well. Oh yes, definitely a malfunctioning brain cell. It needs to shut up now.

  


  
Another wave of magic, his robes disappears and he moves on top of me, taking my head in his hands while leaning against the armrest with his elbows. I can feel his arousal against the inside of my thigh and I make a futile attempt to arch toward him. Two black eyes are watching me intensely. Oh, what is keeping him? I need him. I want him. Screw common sense and sensibility. He tilts my head slightly and gives me the gentlest kiss I ever had. It's enrapturing and it entrances me fully. When he leaves my mouth all I can do is stare unto those eyes of his, those captivating, alluring eyes of his.

  


  
'Don't worry, Hermione, I will have all of you in the end,' he whispers against my lips seductively. 'However, you can't surrender a malfunctioning, potions-filled mind to me, so I guess I'll just have to settle for marking your body as mine. But one day, soon, you will surrender fully, my darling, your eyes assure me of that.'

  


  
On that note, he thrusts inside of me, pushing me into a state of utter bliss. The chains that restrain me loosen up slightly, so I can move towards him as he wishes me to, as he forces me to. It's making the impact of his strokes even more sensitising, so I scream and yell, especially when he starts changing his angles with every stroke, hitting my cervix at every viable spot. It feels extremely overwhelming and I can't possibly take anymore. I am exhausted. I am drained of all my strength. I am going to die. My muscles cramp, I shudder violently and scream his name as my climax hits me when he plunges deep into me for the final time. I feel my walls clench around him, dragging him in even further. A sudden warmness fills my belly as his semen is released into me and we both come to completion.

  


  
He falls down beside me and is breathing as raggedly as I am. Well, he pretty much did all the work. However, that is his own doing for he is the one who chained me up. His hand falls on my cheek and he turns my face toward him. His mouth captures mine and as we kiss I can feel my lips swell and my genitals starting to throb once more. Oh no, I am getting all needy for him again. Come on, surely the effects of that potion have to die out some time? With a wave of his hand, my bonds disappear and he spins me on top of him not disconnecting his contact with my mouth. He magically traces the insides of my thighs over and over again, until I am once again desperate for a release, but he lazily leans backwards in the couch with his hands folded behind his head, stopping his enchantment of my body. I groan in disappointment and he laughs.

  


  
'Your turn, witch,' he smoothly says.

  


  
No need to tell me that. And I find a new physical strength in his every moan, groan, sigh and gasp at my manipulation of his body. Pleasuring him certainly has an effect on me too. It makes my body all tingly and sensitive. When I have his cock erect again, I sit up on my knees and I slam down into him, using gravity as my accomplice, so he penetrates me to the hilt.

  


  
'Circe, Granger, I should attach you to me like that permanently,' Voldemort utters with a gasp.

  


  
And his gaze turns quite intense when I keep this position for a moment, knowing how much he enjoys savouring the feel of his cock inside of me, before I start moving up and down on him. He is not interfering with what I do. He is basically sitting this one out. His eyes are raking over my body appreciatively as I move before him in plain view. My breasts are bouncing, while my hands massage his upper body, neck and the back of his head, making him very, very happy, if his expression is anything to go on. And considering it usually is quite blank and emotionless I take it as a yes.

  


  
I begin to shudder and my movements become impaired when I near my orgasm. I am having trouble with the pace, and suddenly, his arms are around me, helping me to continue while we stare into each other's eyes heatedly. I have my arms around his neck when I come around him and push him over the edge too. It's the first time we climax silently and I crash into his body when we're done. Not having the strength to exit his now softening member. His arms are around my back, until I hear him catch something in his hand.

  


  
'Drink,' he orders, pouring another potion into me without warning or consideration.

  


  
It's an antidote to the Lust Potion he has given me. I recognise the flavour of the components on my tongue before I ingest it all, because after being thoroughly ravished, used and taken advantage off, I already feel deliciously satisfied and I am definitely not able to do another round now. This is so much better than the way he left me hanging this morning. And I smirk at the man who has moved me to the side and is flashing his wand around to clean us up from our activities.

  


  
I can tell I have to hurry with my reading, because this Amulet is about to return to its makers if his eyes are any indication. They are completely dark now. I can't see a single red gleam in them anywhere. Maybe I misjudged it earlier on. Lord Voldemort leans forward and takes the Amulet that is hanging around my neck in his hand. The stone is still glowing, but only just. I don't understand why and I think he is wondering the same thing. His eyes clearly show his soul is whole again. The Amulet should be dead now, unresponsive.

  


  
However, the fact that it is still glowing is saving my skin, because he leans back again, sighing impatiently. Briefly, I notice a red gleam in his eyes. I almost am relieved by it, because it means his soul is still not whole, but I know it's getting close. This won't be a matter of days anymore, but hours. I am never going to finish his library on time. I have to pick the right volumes to read today. I am really annoyed I wasted my time with that Elfin book. I could have used the time to read something else. I should have read something else.

  


  
'I am going to need you to accompany me at four o'clock,' Voldemort drawls.

  


  
'Where to?' I ask, surprised and somewhat concerned.

  


  
'You'll see,' he says smirking, before leaving the study in a very happy mood.

  


  
The door is closing so slowly behind him that I can hear him step through the painting. Did he just forget to alter his appearance back to Mr Snakey? Oh dear…

  


  
'My Lord,' Eveline Mulciber blurts out unwise in the distance. 'What happened to your face?'

  


  
_Ten little Death Eaters were merry and fine. One saw the Emperor's true exterior and that made nine. A dash of green affirms my little rhyme. The heavy thud of a falling body muffles the clock's chime._

  


  
I snicker at my own pun. Well, he has taken out a lot of his followers lately. Eveline Mulciber is just one other in the line of hopefully many more to come. Eh, lesser Death Eaters seems like progress to me. And I think him killing his followers is becoming quite the theme song. I can't resist the temptation to…

  


  
_Nine little Death Eaters are somewhat overweight.  
  
One tried to lose some, gave me His file and that made eight._

  


  
_Eight little Death Eaters thought they were in heaven  
  
One failed to follow His directives and that made seven_

  


  
_Seven little Death Eaters went for the easy fix  
  
One fell for His 'kissing a Mudblood' act and that made six_

  


  
_Six little Death Eaters felt trapped in His hive  
  
One escaped by cooking His snake and that made five_

  


  
_Five little Death Eaters were feeling rather sour  
  
One crucio-ed his master by mistake and that made four_

  


  
_Four little Death Eaters cast unconscious are thee  
  
One caught pneumonia on the cold wet ground and that made three_

  


  
_Three little Death Eaters shocked from hearing boo  
  
One got punished for his father's errors and that made two_

  


  
_Two little Death Eaters sharing their friendship's fun  
  
One was master to the dark lord's wand and that made one_

  


  
_One little Death Eater in all his pale, blond glory  
  
Will never die  
  
I do not lie  
  
His posh cane lives on in victory._

  


  
Snickering in delight over my rather lame lyrics, I stroll past the shelves to choose a book I won't be able to read once this Amulet is gone. I see one with a distinctly dangerous title and decide it will do nicely. It does… It is actually quite interesting. Though I am glad I am protected by this Amulet, because this weird book made some unusual attempts to influence me to the dark side. I lean back in the couch and stretch out my body when I am done with it.

  


  
The clock in the study strikes three and I eat another sandwich and I drink some more juice. In one hour Voldemort wants me to accompany him to something, so I really don't feel like starting in something new and not being able to finish it. I look at The Art of Potions, which is lying on the table. I can read another chapter of that book. After all, they are pretty solitary chapters and can be read separately from one another. I open it at a random page. Faith decides I need to read _'Amortentia and the creation of pure evil'._ Well, that is an original approach to describe the effects of a Love Potion. So I start reading and reading.

  


  
_The true origin of Amortentia is official unknown, but many contribute its existence to the dark sorceress Morgan Le Fay._

  


  
'Sure,' I think, irritated. 'Because any woman in the past who had a bit of brains and power had to be an evil witch.'

  


  
I finish the chapter in one straight run and when I am done all I can do is: stare at the book. Bloody hell. My hands are trembling slightly when I look at the chapter's summary and read it over again, hoping I misread it or maybe I just didn't understand it correctly. Yeah, that is it. I'll just reread the summary and conclusion. I didn't get it right the first time around.

  


  
_Morgan Le Fay is the unofficial inventor of Amortentia. The reason for these assumptions are multitude and it is my thorough understanding that Le Fay's genius in Potion Making as well as her thorough understanding of the human condition lays at the basis of Amortentia. Many claim that Le Fay botched up this potion of love. Many say Le Fay failed to create love between individuals, since love can not be imitated or manufactured and Amortentia only invokes a very powerful obsession to another person. However, it is my wholehearted believe that Morgan Le Fay succeeded immensely at the task she set for herself when she invented Amortentia. For I believe Le Fay never meant to create love, she meant to create evil at its purest form._

  


  
_For this to be understood one needs to take into consideration what it is that Amortentia does. Amortentia creates a form of obsessive behaviour in a person that renders them completely inapt to anything else beside the potion giver. Obsessive 'love' is one of the most dangerous conditions out there and because of this fact many governments sanction the use of Amortentia. But they fail to see the real risk of this potion, which is without a doubt the most dangerous and powerful potion known to mankind._

  


  
_Amortentia works only if both the victim and the potion giver drink it. The victim takes ten times the dose of the assailant, but both individuals become influenced by the qualities of this potion. For a love potion alone, this seems like an unnecessary addition. Why would Le Fay have need for both parties to be under its influence if the goal was to make someone fall in love with you? However, if the goal was to create evil, then both parties need to be involved._

  


  
_As I established before, Amortentia does not create love. On the contrary, this potion creates the absence of love. All my experiments have been conclusive to this. Amortentia use over longer than a fortnight brings on a state between the two individuals that can be called completely loveless. Both parties remain involved with each other and continue to be together, but they care for no one and nothing. All they want to do is to be together obsessively. During this loveless, obsessive state the subjects under influence of the potion become incredibly sexual active, until a state of pregnancy is achieved, after which the potion's influence suddenly seems to wear off and the subjects under its influence slowly return to their normal self_.

  


  
_It is my firm believe that this is Amortentia's true purpose: to achieve conception under truly loveless, emotionless conditions. And by doing so Morgan Le Fay achieved the unthinkable… the creation of a child that will not know love… the creation of pure and unsanctioned evil. A spawn of the devil or the rebirth of the devil in whatever which way you want to look at the issue. It is for this reason that I strongly recommend a complete global ban on Amortentia use._

  


  
_Even though the changes of an actual birth of this devil is relatively slim, due to high rate of spontaneous miscarriages that seem to accompany the potion's use, it takes only one born baby to create a problem unlike any of us has ever seen. With the absence of love a void is created that will be filled with darkness no soul should be allowed or forced to carry. This concentration of darkness will render the child in question to become more powerful than any wizard or witch known to history. He or she will be unstoppable, because there is no cure, no remedy to this state of loveless being. The birth of such a child must be prevented at all costs, because once it is born... God have mercy on our souls._

  


  
A memory from my sixth year at Hogwarts keeps swirling in front of my eyes as I read Abigail Culthrop's devastating conclusion.

  


  
_'Merope Gaunt probably used a love potion to make Tom Riddle her husband,' Harry explained to Hermione and Ron. 'Because a while later he returned to his home saying he'd been hoodwinked and taken in. The villagers thought Merope had told him she was pregnant and had lied.'_

  


  
_'But she did have his baby,' Hermione said, making Harry smile for some unknown reason._

  


  
_'Yes, but Dumbledore said Voldemort wasn't born until a year later,' Harry replied._

  


  
_'So the ugly toad used a Love Potion to get laid,' Ron snorted._

  


  
_'Ron!' Hermione said admonishingly._

  


  
Everything adds up now. Lord Voldemort had been conceived under the influence of Amortentia. I stare at the chapter title and the conclusion again. Shit-fire-mother-fucking-damn. We are all so screwed now.

  


  
It's when the spawn of evil, or the devil reincarnated, enters the room and I wonder if he knows. I am certain he's read Culthrop's book, but I have some doubts as to whether he realises the chapter on Amortentia is referring to him. I try to remember everything Harry told me about Tom Riddle's conversation with Morfin Gaunt, but I am pretty certain Morfin only said that Merope ran off with the muggle who lived at the manor and that said muggle came back later without her. Somehow I doubt Voldemort took the time to chat with his father before killing him.

  


  
I really wish I had seen those memories in the Pensieve myself. I wish I knew exactly what transpired that day, because it would give me some indication on how to handle this newfound information. If Voldemort knows… He better not know. Mr Prophecy-Follower is far too superstitious. It will only affirm him more to his rotten path. It will erase any shred of doubt he probably… doesn't have anyway. I growl. Fortunately, he thinks it is about his secret plans.

  


  
'Are you coming, my dear?' he says with a smirk.

  


  
I place the book on the coffee table and rise from the couch. So it is four o'clock. Great, what kind of fun am I looking forward to now?

  


  
However, he is not telling and I take his outstretched hand as he guides me to go ahead of him. Several emotions are whirling inside of me, while we walk through the corridors of Hogwarts towards what used to be the Defence Against the Dark Arts' classroom. I am worried, fearful, and somewhat sad, because, strangely enough, I feel pity towards the man behind me. I always thought he was a maniac who chose this path out of his own volition, due to the combination of the harsh circumstances of his childhood, the genetic disability of carrying the violent Gaunt genes, and his extreme intelligence and magical prowess. Only now it seems there is far more to it than just those circumstances alone. It seems like the decision was made for him, before he was even born. Somehow I can't help but feel sorry for him. However, the fact there is nothing that can be done about it disturbs me even more, because it would mean that he is unbeatable. That I can't win this. And I have to win this.

  


  
We enter the empty classroom and I don't like the fact that we are here at all. Whatever it is he is planning, if it involves children, than I'd rather not be here. A bang on my right draws my attention to a suddenly wobbling, wooden wardrobe and I frown in confusion. A Boggart? He brought me here to witness some lesson about Boggarts? I stiffen up when his hands come to rest on my shoulders and I feel his breath next to my ear.

  


  
'Think your Boggart will still be the same, Hermione?' he whispers softly and he kisses my neck.

  


  
I don't respond. What is the point of this?

  


  
'I think it still will be your parents in my captivity, don't you agree, my dear?'

  


  
I swallow the huge lump that has formed in my throat and my mouth turns rather dry.

  


  
'Tell me, how would you make such a visual funny? Isn't that how you learnt to eradicate a Boggart, by that silly Riddikulus Spell and laughter?' he says quietly, while prowling around me.

  


  
And I am beginning to understand why I am here, because I know he has another way of extinguishing a Boggart. I read it in his file, and his way, no doubt, has its origin in the Dark Arts. He is going to try to force me to use Dark Magic. I close my eyes in fear. I can't give into him no matter what I am about to see. I just have to keep telling myself it isn't real.

  


  
'Do you think you can laugh at the sight of your parents while they scream in pain, before they die over and over again?' Voldemort asks, touching my face so I will open my eyes and look at him. 'How would you vanquish such a Boggart without the use of the Dark Arts, my dear?'

  


  
'I won't vanquish it,' I admit hoarsely, because I can't think of any manner to make my parents' torture and death funny, and I won't use his method.

  


  
'We'll see…' he says slowly. 'After the seventh years are done with facing it, it will be your turn. Let's sit down in the back and watch the lesson, shall we?'

  


  
I look up surprised. After the seventh years are done with it? Surely, Boggarts are part of the third year curriculum. Voldemort seems to notice my confusion and he smiles.

  


  
'Not anymore,' he tells me, having guessed why I am befuddled. 'I had it changed, because I think it is quite handy to learn the fears of those out there. The teacher will document it in everyone's file, just in case I need it in the future.'

  


  
'Surely, seventh years will be able to get rid of a Boggart, even if it isn't part of the curriculum anymore? It's in loads of textbooks. If they are quick, you'll never be able to tell what their fears are before the Boggart changes,' I reply, remembering Parvati thought Professor Lupin was scared of crystal balls, because he was so quick in changing the displayed visual that we never were able to identify it as the full moon.

  


  
'This Boggart will be protected against anyone who is foolish enough to cast the Riddikulus,' Voldemort responds, dragging me with him to the back of the classroom. 'And as you know I do not share my methods around with everybody.'

  


  
'Then why have we come here already?' I hiss, not at all looking forward to witnessing this.

  


  
'Because you need to learn how delicious fear smells, my little one,' he retorts, while sitting down in the chair in the corner and pulling me on his lap.

  


  
'You're nuts.'

  


  
'I've heard that assessment before,' Voldemort says snickering.

  


  
Two charms make us invisible and unable to be heard by others. Just in time, because the other classes have ended and students begin to pour in. It turns out to be even worse than I imagined beforehand. Several students break down at watching their worst fear and even though some of those fears are quite laughable I feel nothing but sadness at their distress. I can tell by the tight way Voldemort is holding me around my waist that this is not what he was hoping for. He is not happy for some reason. I don't know what he thought I would feel, but even though I am glad it isn't what he would have liked, all I really want is for this dreadful ordeal to be over, because it brings back some haunting memories.

  


  
The last student exits the classroom crying and shaking, when suddenly a little boy enters unexpectedly. He is so tiny that he must be a first year and he holds out a small piece of paper to Alphonse Mulciber when the Boggart turns its attention to him. A whip-crack noise fills the room as the Boggart alters form and to my utter surprise it turns into the familiar sight of a Dementor; Harry's Boggart. The Dementor swirls forward, the boy screams, and I am on my feet with Voldemort's wand. I have to protect Harry. I have to.

  


  
'Expecto Patronus,' I cast, remembering the Riddikilus Spell won't work on this particular Boggart.

  


  
It isn't until later that I realise Voldemort must have been curious about what I was going to do when he allowed me to nick his wand and cast the spell. But right in that moment all I can think about is that Harry is in danger and I need to do something. So I do what I know Professor Lupin taught Harry to do, I cast the Patronus Charm. It takes me some effort to dig into a happy memory under these circumstances, but I manage and a silvery substance leaves my wand and charges at the Boggart-Dementor. My Patronus evaporates the Boggart completely before slithering through the classroom happy about a job well done. I just stare at it, unable to move or utter a sound, while I feel Voldemort's hand on mine as he removes the wand from my hand. That animal did not come from my wand, it couldn't have. I am not even relieved that my Patronus thwarted Voldemort's plans for me by obliterating the Boggart. I am appalled and I continue to stare at the unexpected form of my corporeal Patronus that is now hissing happily at the man behind me. Voldemort's delight at my Patronus is radiating of him thoroughly as his arms wrap around my waist.

  


  
'Mulciber,' he says, nodding courteous to the man, and he spins on the spot to Apparate us back to his quarters.

  


  
That night I am unable to fall asleep. Images of that blasted Patronus keep dancing in front of my eyes. I have never seen a more pleased and smug expression on Lord Voldemort's face than after he saw it. He sees it as my defeat, no doubt. That's why he is able to sleep and I am not. Still, I am not uncomfortable in this bed. I am lying somewhat on my left side and my head is resting on his chest. Lord Voldemort has wrapped his arms around me tightly and his left leg is placed possessively over both of mine. After that stupid Patronus, he turned even more controlling and domineering over me and although he is fast asleep right now, he is not letting go an inch. Even his magic swirls around me. It leaves a tremendously oppressive feel behind in my body, and yet, strangely, I have never felt so safe and secure in my life. No one will ever touch or harm me when he is around. I wish he would hold me like this forever.

  


  
My eyes widen when I realise what I just thought. But I can't deny it any longer. It will be foolish and counterproductive if I do. I will only be kidding myself. That Patronus said it all. They don't just change on a whim. Only a severe emotional upheaval causes them to alter form. And I am pretty sure mine was never a snake before. How did this happen? The man ruined my life. My entire childhood has been based on defeating him. He killed and tortured my friends, lost me my parents, and he tortured and hurt me severely in the last months. Hell, he almost got me killed a couple of times. I am his prisoner. I can't have him as a Patronus. It makes no sense whatsoever. I am loosing it. I am obviously going mental.

  


  
So what if he saved me from the addictive book. He is the reason I had it in the first place. And the reason I couldn't spot on my own, the book was a threat. And it is like this with all those other times when he did something that could remotely be considered kind. It was all self-serving. So why do I care? Why do I lo…?

  


  
I whimper.

  


  
Oh no. I can't… This can't be happening to me. It just can't. I can't love someone who is incapable of experiencing that emotion himself. Suddenly, I feel like I am unable to breath. I am going to suffocate. And I panic. I try to scream, but no air means no sound too. I try to get out from his grasp. I need some air. NOW!

  


  
I struggle to get away, but his arm moves and his hand comes to rest on my shoulder, holding me even tighter than before when his thumb caresses my neckline. Magic washes over me and I calm down considerably. After I have regained my breathing I look up, expecting him to have woken up, but he hasn't. He still is very much asleep. It was an instinctive response. Probably due to our magical connection. I study his face. He truly is a handsome man. Would that be it? Am I that shallow? Or would it just be an indication how much I've changed in the past months? I know my eyes are turning darker. I know it means that my soul is darkening. I've not wanted to see it for a long time. I've been sticking my head in the sand. But I can't ignore it anymore. I love him. Oh dear Merlin, I am doomed, done for, lost forever.

  


  
'What the hell am I going to do now?' I say desperate, and rather foolishly, out loud.

  


  
'How about this,' a familiar voice says and a kiss lands on my lips.

  


  
He rolls me on my back and I feel his weight on top of me, while he devours my mouth fully. I can't do this. But our nightwear is gone the next second and without warning he enters me forcefully. I am so not ready, but he hits my G-spot in one single blow. So I scream in a mixture of pain and delight as he rocks inside of me, exiting me fully before forcing his entry harshly over and over again. I don't want this, I don't.

  


  
However, his magic swirls around me, teasing my body into overdrive, while he fills me up, striking my sensitive areas in an almost vindictive manner. Showing me who I belong to, who it is that owns my body. I can feel my muscles starting to clamp around him, drawing him in even further, and my orgasm is nearing fast. No, no, no, I can't deal with this. He doesn't feel properly like others do. My body is beginning to shake and tremble with anticipation of the oncoming exhilarating feeling, but I can't be with him. He is Lord Voldemort even if he may not look the part at the moment. So I try to push him away, despite the fact that my body tells me to continue this delicious expedition. He breaks the kiss and halts his movements inside of me, pressing his pelvis against me like he is trying to crush my body, when he realises I am responding differently. My body loves the way he fills me up thoroughly and pins me down beneath him, but I can't do this, not now. Voldemort looks at me with an arched eyebrow.

  


  
'Please stop,' I whisper hoarsely.

  


  
I stop looking at the handsome man above me and I turn my head to the side, so I can pretend I am not here. This isn't happening. It just isn't. I can't do this anymore, I can't. I can't be here. His dark eyes must be staring down at me, because it feels like someone is trying to burn a hole in my head, while he continues to force his presence inside of me. I can feel my hips wanting to jerk, wanting to continue our activity, but my mind thinks otherwise. Oh Merlin, my eyes are beginning to water. A hand cups my cheek gently and he turns my head to face him. I avert my eyes and I do not meet his penetrating gaze. I can't, not now. My lips are beginning to quiver and I close my eyes when I can no longer stop the tears from falling. God, I hate myself. What am I doing here? What am I becoming? Despite my closed eyes, I can feel the severity of Voldemort's gaze upon me and his hand caresses my cheek softly, before he exits me and rolls to the side to move his body of me without a single comment to my utter surprise. It feels so empty when he is no longer there, and now, I also feel physical agony on top of my mental one.

  


  
However, he may have stopped at my request, but his arm remains possessively around my waist, making me feel like I am stuck, like I can't breathe. I need to be upright to get some air into my lungs and I fling myself in a seated position. It's not helping, because that damn arm is still there. He is still here. Because even though he is awfully quiet, his presence is sipping through every ounce of my being and it is overwhelming. Why am I still here? Why am I doing this to myself? Freaking out completely, I jump from the bed … away from his grasp, his hold. I grab my robe and race out of the bedroom, feeling his eyes burn into my back before the door closes. Quickly, I pull the robe over my head and I do what I should have done ages ago, I drain every ounce of magic I can find, until I have enough to Apparate out of here. I have no idea where I am going, but any place is better than here.

  


  
I land somewhere in the UK and immediately Apparate away abroad. I repeat this procedure many times, until I am too dizzy from spinning around. I end up in my flat at Vilnius, Lithuania. I have used it before when I travelled the world searching for the Amulet and I am glad it is still intact and every ward I set before is still in place. Obviously, no one has tried entering it, otherwise this hideout would not be here anymore and I crash to the couch crying relentlessly. Glad, I've finally put some physical distance between that tyrant and myself. It's when I realise my robe smells of him. I smell of him.

  


  
And I swirl of the couch into the bathroom. I toss my clothes in the bin and turn on the tab of the shower. Scrubbing my body vigorously to remove any trace of Voldemort's odour, I stand underneath the shower wishing that I could remove his influence on me just as easily as his scent. When my skin is raw and red from my extensive attempt of cleansing myself free of him, I sink to the shower's floor as the water keeps pouring down on me. Unable to move anymore I just sit there, gazing into thin air. Knowing I am going to lose this battle.

  


  
A distinct crack sounds inside the bathroom, but somehow that doesn't register with me, until the water stops and a familiar hand falls on my arm. Oh Merlin no, please no. Don't let him be here already. I need some space. I can't breathe. So I scream. Two arms take a hold of me as the unearthly sound of my scream reaches my ears. That can't be me, can it? I can't possibly sound that desperate, can I? My body is shaking relentlessly when Lord Voldemort pulls me against him. He is not speaking while he holds me to his chest. His arm is around my waist again, while his other is on my head, holding it tightly against him. He is forcing his presence on me to show me I can't escape him. And I start to cry; loudly. I know he hates the sound, but I can't control myself anymore. I just can't. Let him kill me for it, I'd welcome the end of my suffering.

  


  
However, he doesn't resort to the use of the Cruciatus Curse or anything else. He merely strokes my hair, while I cry out in distress against his robes. I feel so alone, tired, and lost. I want it to be over. I need this to be over. Suddenly, I feel something is being pressed to my lips and I try to back away when a strange smell fills my nostrils. What is that? Apprehensively, I look at the small vial Voldemort is holding in his hand. I am not taking that. Who knows what that is? I've never smelled anything like it.

  


  
'Don't make me force you,' he breaks the silence.

  


  
Of course, there is the usual threatening and … He presses the vial against my lips. My eyes meet his for the first time since I panicked and he gazes down at my tearstained face calmly. The determination in his eyes says it all. I have no choice here. He looks straight at me as he empties the contents of the vial inside my surrendering mouth and I swallow it. It's not a disgusting potion as most are and I recognise some of the flavours, but I don't know what it is or is supposed to do, and it troubles me thoroughly.

  


  
His gaze turns quite intense and predatory as he lifts my naked body up in his arms. I am no longer crying now and a strange sense of calmness is making its way through me. I lean against him not having the strength to resist what I know is going to come next. He drains on our magic. A quick spin and he Apparates us back into his bedroom. Swiftly, he places me back down in the bed I vacated in a hurry so little time ago. I blink several times, because the world is turning blurry before my eyes.

  


  
'You're almost there, my dear,' Voldemort whispers, satisfied. 'You're almost mine completely. It won't be long now. Stop fighting and embrace your destiny.'

  


  
I almost doze off when I see a silver mouse entering and it's speaking to Voldemort. I recognise the manner in which the Order of the Phoenix used to communicate with each other. Only Voldemort has expanded upon that system and I can't hear what the mouse is saying. But whatever it is, it can't be good, because he suddenly looks like Christmas has arrived. The world around me feels like a merry-go-round, but through my dazed state of being, I see Lord Voldemort Transfiguring himself back to his old, snakelike appearance. It appears to be rather painful if his expression is anything to go by. When he is done, all that remains of his 'Tom Riddle' features are his dark eyes, but a Glamour takes care of that next. A vile smile creeps to his face and it frightens me to the core. He is too pleased. This is not good. He cups my cheek and I blink again. I feel drowsy.

  


  
'This will push you over the edge, Hermione,' he softly says, kissing my forehead. 'It is time you became what we both know you should be.'

  


  
And with a swift spin, he Apparates away to an unknown destination. His cold, high-pitched laugh is the last thing I hear before the unidentifiable potion renders me unconscious.  
  
---


	25. Chapter 25

**Warning:** This chapter is from Unspeakable Sloan's perspective!

* * *

  


  
**The Bittersweet Taste of Victory**

  


  
_What does it matter to ya,_  
  
 _When you've got a job to do you gotta do it well,  
  
You gotta give the other fellow hell_

  


  
_You used to say live and let live.  
  
You know you did, you know you did, you know you did  
  
But if this ever changing world in which we live in  
  
Makes you give in and cry,_

  


  
_Say live and let die  
  
Live and let die,  
  
Live and let die,  
  
Live and let die._

  


  
Paul McCartney and Wings; Live and let die

  


  
**Chapter twenty-five**

  


  
With a bounce in his step, Liam Sloan walks across the streets of New York City accompanied by his American partner Nathania. He glances sideways to the woman. She is intelligent, thorough and a bit unstable in her mind. However, Nathania is one of the few Aurors in this country that he trusts completely, mainly because she is a firm supporter of the political regime Voldemort created. Frankly, Sloan has never seen anyone before who is such a fervent Muggle-hater. Considering that he met the Dark Lord himself, it is saying something.

  


  
But Nathania blames the discrimination and enslavement of her people on muggles. Not that Nathania's family ever had to endure any of it. She was born in a long family line of pureblood wizards and witches, who lived and still live outside the Muggle-world. But she sympathises and hates every muggle for it with a vengeance, even the Afro-American ones. According to her, they are all Uncle Toms and every muggle should just be eliminated, period. Yes, Sloan feels she is definitely strange in her reasoning. But he isn't complaining, because her reasoning suits him just fine at the moment in his quest to find the Grangers.

  


  
Sloan has always loved his job. He does it meticulously, no matter who runs the country. He has apprehended several Death Eaters among those who seemed innocent and above all suspicion under Scrimgeour's regime, and he easily switched to Order members and friends after Voldemort took over. Sloan does it all for the chase and the puzzle. The politics behind it doesn't interest him. He is used to politicians changing their thoughts on a mere whim. He is an Unspeakable, a professional, who does his job to the best of his abilities. Not for a moment does he consider what happens to those he apprehends these days; he just likes to find the people who can not be found by others. It still bugs him to this day that Granger came to Voldemort before he had a chance to find her. But he will find her parents, of that, he is certain.

  


  
Working in the United States of America has been more troublesome than he had taken into consideration beforehand. Several attempts on his life had been made already, and a couple of times, he had gone to a house, where he hoped the Grangers would live, to find it emptied out completely. Somehow the resistance movement in this country was often two steps ahead of him, making his search for the Grangers nearly impossible to accomplish.

  


  
But he has a good feeling about today and he rings the doorbell twice. After a short while, the door opens and a little girl stares directly at him. So it looks like it's the wrong house after all. Alas.

  


  
'Who are you?' the girl asks curiously.

  


  
Sloan squats down to the girl's height. 'My name is Liam Sloan. I am with the FBI,' he replies, using their normal cover that has gotten him indoors of many muggles' households surprisingly easy over the last couple of weeks.

  


  
'Cool,' the girl responds, looking at the fake badge he is holding.

  


  
'And you are?'

  


  
'I am Jaquenetta Evans,' the girl states.

  


  
'Jaquenetta, that is a beautiful name, very Shakespearian,' he says, smiling satisfied again, because maybe he wasn't wrong after all. 'And how old are you?'

  


  
'Five,' Jaquenetta says proudly.

  


  
'Five,' Sloan replies happily, doing the math. 'Wow, so you're a big girl already.'

  


  
The girl nods fervently and Nathania shuffles on her feet impatiently. 'Stop fooling around with the muggle brat, Sloan, and hurry up. I am hungry and looking forward to go home and cook a nice meal for myself.'

  


  
'Are your parents home, Jaquenetta?' Sloan asked politely, ignoring the hungry Auror.

  


  
An affirmative nod is his only response.

  


  
'Could you get them for me? I need to speak with them.'

  


  
'Mom!' Jaquenetta shouts, looking over her shoulder. 'There is a man from the FBI here!'

  


  
Sloan stands up and glares at the obviously bored witch on his side. 'I don't think we'll be going home soon. This could very well be it.'

  


  
'You say that at every house.'

  


  
'And one day I am going to be right.'

  


  
'Yes?' asks the middle-aged woman, who entered the hallway while drying her hands on a towel.

  


  
A broad smile graces Sloan's features when he recognises the woman. 'Ginny Evans?'

  


  
'Yes.'

  


  
'I am Liam Sloan,' he says, flashing his badge once more. 'Is your husband in?'

  


  
'Why? What is going on?'

  


  
'I am afraid we have received information that drug-money is being laundered through your practice by one of your accountants and we need to ask you both to come with us, so we can go through the paperwork together and sort this out.'

  


  
'Drug-money is being laundered through our practice?' Mrs Evans replies shocked. 'Ronald!' she shouts and she walks away from the door, beckoning them indoors.

  


  
Satisfied, Sloan turns to the bored Nathania. With a flick of his wand, he sends a message away to the United Kingdom and he smirks widely as his silvery mouse speeds away.

  


  
'I guess today is my lucky day,' Sloan whispers smugly.

  


  
'What did you just do?' Nathania asks, staring down the street where the emissions of his message still remain apprehensively.

  


  
'I contacted the Dark Lord,' he replies smugly, watching Nathania's eyes widen even further.

  


  
'You did what!' she hisses angry and a bit frightened. 'Are you absolutely certain these people are the Grangers, because if you are wrong…'

  


  
'I am not wrong,' Sloan replies certain of himself.

  


  
He steps indoors to shake the hand of Ronald Evans, who came down the stairs after hearing his wife holler at him.

  


  
'Liam Sloan,' he introduces himself to Hermione's father, but Ronald doesn't get a chance to respond.

  


  
'Expelliarmus!'

  


  
The spell strikes Sloan in the back and his wand leaves his pocket when the force of the Disarmament Charm tosses him across the hallway into the kitchen. Frightened shrieks from the Evans's and Nathania's reassuring words to them reach his eardrums as he scrambles to his feet. He sees the woman cast a Memory Restoring Charm on the two muggles before turning to face him. Nathania smirks as she has her wand aimed directly at him.

  


  
'You, it was you,' Sloan hisses. 'You were the one who hindered my investigation.'

  


  
A small inclination of Nathania's head is all the responds he gets to his statement from the traitorous Auror, while she looks satisfied in his direction. 'Have a seat, dear Liam. You're going to need it when the Dark Lord gets here and you have nothing to give him.'

  


  
With a smoothly cast spell, he is dumped into one of the kitchen chairs before the disloyal woman plants her wand at her temple and a silver tiger speeds away. This is just one more thing that he really doesn't like about Americans. They can never do as they are told. He will be so happy to leave this country behind him. Sloan turns his attention to the muggles and he notices the Grangers are looking utterly confused. He is very interested in their responses to everything that is about to happen. Rose has taken her scared daughter Jaquenetta on her arm, while Hugo is whispering to her vigorously.

  


  
'Don't worry about Him coming,' Nathania says over her shoulder to the Grangers. 'We're going to get you out of here in a heartbeat. My people are closer by than the Dark Lord is. They will get the message before he does.'

  


  
'What's going on? Who are you?' Hugo Granger demands. 'Where is my daughter?'

  


  
Two cracks follow and a tiny wizard monk along with a tall, pink haired woman Apparate in the kitchen. 'Mr and Mrs Granger?' the monk asks.

  


  
'Yes,' replies Hugo annoyed, 'mind telling me who you are, bouncing into my kitchen like that.'

  


  
'I am … uhmm… Yoda,' the monk answers, 'and I believe Hermione may have told you about Nymphadora Lupin-Tonks?'

  


  
'Well, that is a bit of information the Dark Lord will be most interested in hearing about,' Sloan thinks, taking in the figure of Tonks, who stumbles forward, tosses over a lamp in her path, and takes the hands of both Hugo and Rose Granger to shake them vigorously.

  


  
'It's an honour to finally meet the parents of Hermione,' she says happily. 'We were having such a hard time finding you.'

  


  
Sloan snorts.

  


  
'Oh, we are more than willing to give you the well deserved credit for it,' sneers Nathania. 'Do you want me to leave a note for Him?'

  


  
'Hermione?' Rose asks Tonks worried. 'Is she alright?'

  


  
And both the Grangers are now alternating their eyes between Tonks, Yoda and Nathania. Yoda is the one who steps forward and responds. 'We will explain everything to you once we have gotten you to safety.' And he nods towards Tonks. 'You know where to take them.'

  


  
'Now, wait a second,' Hugo interrupts and he pulls his arm away before Tonks has a chance to take a hold of him. 'Yoda?' he asks, puzzled.

  


  
'It's how your daughter named me. My true name is rather … difficult to pronounce,' Yoda responds smiling.

  


  
'Hermione named you Yoda?' Rose asks frowning and she shares an understanding glance with her husband.

  


  
'Well, at least it isn't Darth Vader or the Emperor,' Hugo mutters softly.

  


  
'I believe that position is already filled,' Nathania snickers, making the Grangers chuckle briefly as well.

  


  
The four others in the room are watching the exchange dumbfounded. They have absolutely no idea what the fun is all about, but no explanation is being given.

  


  
'If my Hermione named you Yoda, you must be a good person,' Hugo says and he holds out his hand to Yoda, who shakes it. 'So how is my daughter?'

  


  
'I am certain she is fine,' Yoda replies to Sloan's utter astonishment. 'I will fill you in more extensively once we arrive at the safe house.'

  


  
'Hermione will be there too?' Rose asks hopeful.

  


  
'Of course not,' Sloan replies annoyed, and before the others have a chance to speak. 'They aren't taken you to your daughter. They can't.'

  


  
'While you vile, low some, evil sneak,' Nathania hisses, 'Duro!'

  


  
Shocked, Sloan sees the Into-Stone-Turning Hex hurtle toward him, but Yoda swirls around. A dash of bright light flies around Liam and the hex extinguishes. Nathania turns to Yoda astonished. 'You're protecting that piece of shit here?'

  


  
'We are not in the business of attacking defenceless people,' Yoda says calmly.

  


  
But Hugo Granger steps forward. 'What did he mean when he said you can't take us to Hermione?' he asks, concerned.

  


  
'Because she is a prisoner of the Dark Lord,' Sloan says quickly and to great irritation of Nathania. But he already knows now that Yoda will protect him, so he feels relatively safe.

  


  
'Wha… at?' Rose stutters, devastated.

  


  
'Mommy, you're crushing me,' Jaquenetta squeaks painfully.

  


  
'Is that true?' Hugo asks Yoda upfront.

  


  
'I'm afraid so, but…'

  


  
'If you ever want to see your daughter alive again, you will stay here with me until the Dark Lord arrives,' Sloan interrupts Yoda. 'I can assure you he will punish Hermione if…' But suddenly he is no longer able to utter another word and he looks at the monk, whose hand is raised, with some fear.

  


  
'You can't stay,' Yoda says to the Grangers. 'He will use you against Hermione if you do.'

  


  
'But we can't leave her. She needs us,' Rose objects.

  


  
'You will not do her any favours by staying,' Yoda replies warningly. 'I understand you're concerned about Hermione. So am I. But going over there as his prisoners will make her life a lot more difficult and …'

  


  
Yoda's eyes widen. In an abrupt move, he turns away from the Grangers and swirls his hands through the air. A bright light emanates all around the kitchen, protecting those present. 'Get out, all of you, he is already here.'

  


  
A thundering noise sounds, muffling Yoda's warning words, and darkness hits the outer wall of the building, trashing it to smithereens before they can even blink an eyelash. It collides violently with Yoda's Light Force and the air cackles with magic so forceful Sloan feels his skin crawl. Lord Voldemort has arrived. His imposing figure is standing in the street and a smirk graces his snakelike features when he sees the monk and the others in the now 'exposed to the elements' kitchen. Tonks grabs a hold of the Grangers and Sloan is incredibly pleased when she seems unable to Apparate out with Nathania. It appears the Dark Lord has raised an Anti-Apparation Ward before attacking. Dark sparks fly everywhere and Yoda is struggling to keep them out.

  


  
'GO!' Yoda shouts over the thundering noise of the colliding magic. 'I can't hold him off forever.'

  


  
'We can't!' Nathania yells. 'Some ward is preventing Apparation!'

  


  
Concerned, Yoda looks over his shoulder. His hands are still raised to hold of the darkness that is surrounding them. However, this bit of information makes the tiny monk close his eyes and bend his head to concentrate.

  


  
'Get ready to go,' Yoda tells the others in the room.

  


  
'Now!' Yoda shouts and one hand retreats from blocking Voldemort's magic and flies up in the sky to trash the ward that had been set there.

  


  
Five people Apparate out, just before Yoda gets thrown through the kitchen and plummets into the cabinets on the opposing wall, unable to hold of Voldemort's attack when he had to split his magic between two tasks. Voldemort Apparates in front of the monk and aims his wand.

  


  
'Goodbye old fool,' the Dark Lord hisses. 'Avada…'

  


  
'Crack.'

  


  
A scream of fury leaves the Dark Lord's lips when Yoda is no longer there and he swirls towards Sloan, raising his wand wrathful at the only one left in his presence. The one, who has summoned him in vain.

  


  
'No, my Lord, wait,' Sloan thinks, because he is still unable to make a sound. The Unspeakable is shaking his head frightened and he raises his hand in the air as a futile means of defence, hoping to prevent the inevitable.

  


  
'Crucio!'

  


  
He is unsuccessful.

  


  
.  
  
---


	26. Chapter 26

---  
  
---  
  
**The Bittersweet Taste of Victory**

  


  
_I'm giving up the ghost of love_  
  
 _And a shadow is cast on devotion  
  
She is the one that I adore  
  
Queen of my silent suffocation_

  


  
_Break this bittersweet spell on me  
  
Lost in the arms of destiny  
  
Bittersweet  
  
  
  
I won't give up  
  
I'm possessed by her  
  
I'm bearing a cross  
  
She's turning into my curse  
  
  
  
Break this bittersweet spell on me  
  
Lost in the arms of destiny  
  
Bittersweet  
  
  
  
I want you  
  
Oh how I wanted you  
  
And I need you  
  
Oh how I needed you  
  
  
  
Break this bittersweet spell on me  
  
Lost in the arms of destiny  
  
Break this bittersweet spell on me  
  
Lost in the arms of destiny  
  
Bittersweet_

  


  
Apocalyptica featuring Ville Valo & Lauri Ylönen; Bittersweet.

  


  
**Chapter twenty-six**

  


  
Absolute fury, that is what he feels when the pie-loving moron Apparates away to safety. Lord Voldemort swirls around and raises his wand at the only one remaining. He sees the Unspeakable's fear and his distinct motion to halt his punishment. Sloan's pleading thoughts, asking him to wait, hit his brain, but he casts the Cruciatus Curse just the same. Because, really, the nerve of that man to summon him when he had not succeeded!

  


  
Sloan twists and writhes on the floor without making a sound. But he can still hear the Unspeakable scream in his mind; delightful. He will never, ever make the mistake of summoning him for no reason at all again. After several wonderful minutes, his anger subsides, and he lifts the curse and undoes the Silencing Charm someone has obviously cast on the man.

  


  
'Care to explain yourself, Liam?' Voldemort says, twirling his wand around, waiting for the man to make another error, which would give him the pleasure of doing some more 'explaining' of his own.

  


  
'My Lord, those weren't the Grangers. I already have them in custody elsewhere,' Sloan replies panting.

  


  
Lord Voldemort narrows his eyes at the Unspeakable. 'You have them in custody elsewhere?' he repeats slowly.

  


  
'Yes, my Lord. I have personally brought them to a secure place.'

  


  
'Which is where?'

  


  
'The Ministry of Magic in the UK, Master. I asked Lucius Malfoy to make sure they are safe and they are secretly locked away, so…'

  


  
Lord Voldemort holds up his hand to interrupt the Unspeakable's speech. Malfoy may be a dolt at times, but he is certainly qualified to handle a couple of Muggles and he has no doubt that Malfoy won't be so foolish to harm them when he knows very well that the Grangers are wanted alive and unharmed by him. However, it does leave him with the daunting audacity of the Unspeakable to have him come all the way here, while the Grangers are elsewhere.

  


  
'Why have you summoned me here, if you brought the Grangers to the UK?' Voldemort enquires softly and a hint of danger lingers through his posture and tone of voice.

  


  
'My Lord, over the last couple of weeks, I have been constantly thwarted and hindered in my investigation. I have arrested several traitors and among them was one, who had a rather smug, big mouth and he informed me there was a large network in this country, which was opposing his Lordship's administration and he said that we couldn't win here. So I set up a fake public investigation and went on searching for the Grangers on my own. When I found them, I knew it would be the perfect opportunity to roll up this network of terrorists that opposes you, Master,' Sloan explains triumphant. 'So I Polyjuiced a couple of Muggles to look like the Grangers and I modified their memory, so that it would match the real Granger's the moment someone used a Memory Restoring Charm on them.'

  


  
Lord Voldemort merely glares at the Unspeakable, who obviously thinks he is of the hook now. Is the man daft or what?

  


  
'I see,' Voldemort says quietly. 'So you thought you could bother me with your petty problems?'

  


  
A surprised Liam Sloan shakes his head fearfully. 'No, no, my Lord. I just…'

  


  
'You thought you could summon me for something that is of no interest to me whatsoever. You think I care about what a bunch of bleeding Americans are doing, Liam?' he snarls. 'Do you!'

  


  
Sloan jerks when Lord Voldemort, suddenly, raises his voice in those last two words and he quickly starts explaining what happened. 'No, my Lord, no. I made a mistake by removing my memory of the false identity of the Muggles too and I summoned you thinking I found the real deal. I do apologise. It was not my intent to bother you with this, Master.'

  


  
'You modified your own memory?' Voldemort says, and he is somewhat amused when he sees the man is eyeing his wand apprehensively.

  


  
'Yes, yes,' Liam answers hastily. 'I knew there was a leak at the top and considering how many times they had been ahead of me, I was concerned it was someone who possessed the skill of Legilimency. I removed my own memory of the fake identity of the Muggles, so I could not give that away to any of them and my memory removal was set to return the moment someone cast the Memory Restoring Charm on the Polyjuice-Grangers. I summoned you before that. I truly am sorry it happened. I did not foresee this beforehand.'

  


  
'If you had no memory of the Grangers not being them, then how could you Polyjuice the Muggles who were posing as them? You only had one hour at best.'

  


  
'One of my most trusted informants was in the house with the Muggles and she had orders to Polyjuice them and leave the scene right before my arrival there. She did a wonderful job, as usual,' Sloan says, clarifying the issue. 'And now, we know the identities of those involved at the top of this cell. It turns out to be a former member of the Order of the Phoenix, Mrs Nymphadora Lupin-Tonks and this Knight of Silence.'

  


  
Lord Voldemort narrows his eyes. 'Lupin? So that shape-shifting wolf-lover is the one, who survived,' Voldemort sneers. 'Well, I guess you did Lucius' job for him too, Sloan. Unfortunately, you were unable in really apprehending…'

  


  
But Sloan recklessly interrupts him. 'I placed a tracking device on the Muggles, my Lord. Wherever those fools take them, we will know the location. You can still take out the Knight, Master,' Liam says, hopeful this information will prevent another round of torture.

  


  
Lord Voldemort sighs. As much as he hates to admit it, the concept of taking out the dwarf is very appealing to him. Perhaps he shall overlook Liam's little indiscretion, if he really has the Grangers and can take him to the location of the leave-loving nature dweller. The options this situation creates are kind of wonderful. If he can take out the Knight, it will show Hermione the weakness and utter uselessness of light magic. He is pretty sure that it is Yoda and his moronic teachings, which has kept her locked to the light side of magic all this time. Without him and the idiotic idea that light will conquer all, she will fall, and she will become the most powerful dark witch this earth has ever seen. There is no doubt in his mind that she will. For a second he allows himself to dwell on the fabulous picture of a dark Hermione in his head, before he turns his attention back to Liam Sloan.

  


  
'Crucio,' he casts happily.

  


  
He closes his eyes and savours the power he beholds. He feels the flow of magic that leaves his wand, while he curses Sloan effortlessly. Wonderful. There is nothing like a little torture to brighten his day and the man needs to understand that his actions simply were inexcusable. No matter how delightful the outcome may be. No matter if a stupid half-breed and some pathetic, undersized, Dumbledore impersonating figure comes within his grasp because of it. One simply does not act out these things without his explicit approval beforehand. He really thought Sloan was smart enough to understand this.

  


  
Casually, Lord Voldemort twists his wand slightly to improve the impact of the curse on the squirming, screaming and wriggling figure before him. And to think he had thought for a moment the man could have been a valid replacement for Severus. He jabs his wand in annoyance at Sloan, who yells out in pain. Weak and useless. If he can't swing Hermione quickly, he will go mind-blowing crazy from all the idiocy that surrounds him. He lifts his wand and smirks at the visual of his handiwork. Yes, the message has got across. He doubts the man will ever make the blunder of not informing him beforehand again.

  


  
'Take me to those traitors, Liam,' Voldemort drawls and he strolls away.

  


  
They Apparate to Liam's office and he assembles his team quickly, but pinpointing the exact location of the headquarters of the terrorists turns out to be a bit more trying than the Unspeakable had counted on. Sloan's entire team is working hard to overcome whatever ward is causing the reception of their tracking device to malfunction, while Lord Voldemort simply sits in a comfortable chair reading a magazine and drinking a nice cup of cappuccino. On occasions, the Dark Lord sees the apprehensive glares that are cast in his direction and it amuses him severely. He has no intention of leaving and giving them a breather. They will be much more motivated to do their best, if they are aware of his presence and of what he will do to them all should they fail him. Softly, he hums to himself. This truly is going to be a terrific day, one way or the other. He will have fun.

  


  
'Got them!' Sloan shouts out in triumph.

  


  
Lord Voldemort looks up from his reading. There is only one way to describe the present mood in the chamber, and that is total and utter relief.

  


  
'It's about time,' he replies condescendingly, while he lifts himself from his chair. 'I was worried I would have to spend the night here.'

  


  
A half hour later, the best way to describe the situation is an all out war scene. Sloan had the surroundings of the terrorists' headquarters firmly sealed of before they entered, but it still was a well protected base of operations, and unfortunately, it was also very well staffed. So they ran into a large amount of resistance upon entering. Lord Voldemort knows that if he hadn't been there, Sloan would have never got in at all. He can truly admire the efficiency in which the place was run, but it is going down now.

  


  
Casually, he strolls through the fighters. His imposing length, snakelike features and the sheer power of the magic that surrounds him is enough to make the majority of them dive out of the way when he approaches their position. He only has to kill a few fools, who thought they had what it takes to duel him. They were sadly mistaken. His magical power is unmatched. Well, there is this tiny, slip of a girl, who may be… He shakes the thought irritated. Why does that woman keep popping up in his mind all the time?

  


  
Curses fly everywhere, but none of them are able to penetrate through his formidable shield, naturally. Still, the people standing in the spacious hallway are of no interest to him. They are ants, bystanders. Sloan and his men can deal with them. Lord Voldemort has bigger fish to fry. He can sense the fool. This time he won't escape him. He is still here. Upstairs! He swirls to the staircase, but is surprised by a purple-haired woman, who is blocking his path. He tilts his head and a vile smile becomes visible on his face.

  


  
'If it isn't the wolf-lover,' he mocks, 'come to try and fail again, Dora Figg?'

  


  
'Avada Kedavra!' yells Tonks.

  


  
The Killing Curse hurtles toward him, but he diverts its path with a lazy wave of his wand and to his delight he sees the horror on Tonks' face when her curse kills one of their people.

  


  
'Thanks,' he grins, 'do you want to try again, Auror? You obviously can use the practise; that aim of yours definitely needs improving.'

  


  
Another lazy flick of his hand diverts the next curse that flies of Tonks' wand in the direction of her allies and it strikes down a man, who was about to take out Sloan. Lord Voldemort laughs. 'You are very helpful, Nymphadora,' he mocks. 'I wonder how helpful you will become when I punish your son and mother for your crimes. What was the cub's name…?'

  


  
Her hair turns as red as her face in fury, and now, curse after curse swirls in his direction. It doesn't take him much effort to block and ditch them, and his cold laugh fills the hall.

  


  
'You,' _curse, '_ will _,' curse, '_ leave _,' curse, '_ Teddy _,' curse, '_ alone _,'_ Tonks hisses in between casting _._

  


  
'I'd love to stay and chat some more, mommy,' he sneers, 'but you are of no importance to me.'

  


  
An abrupt jab of his wand, a purple flame erupts from it, and it heads straight for the former Auror.

  


  
'Protego!' Tonks casts wide-eyed.

  


  
But the flame whirls through her shield and strikes her in the chest harshly. Tonks flies through the air before tumbling down the stairs and landing at the bottom of it fully incapacitated.

  


  
'Filth,' Voldemort spits as he strolls past her, not caring about the mediocre curses that are flying all around him, because he is going upstairs to finish off his real target.

  


  
When he flings open the door, the scene before him takes him somewhat by surprise. Yoda is sitting on a rug on the ground and he is drinking his tea serenely, like there isn't a single care in the world. The monk looks up and smiles at him. 'Ah Tom, I thought you might come,' Yoda says calmly. 'Tea?' And he holds up the pot before him invitingly.

  


  
Lord Voldemort rolls his eyes at the thought and the monk puts down the teapot shrugging his shoulders. 'Your loss,' Yoda says and he takes another sip of his drink. 'Delicious,' he adds sighing.

  


  
The Dark Lord glances over his shoulder to the ruckus and fighting downstairs, and he raises his eyebrows, before he smirks condescendingly at the figure before him.

  


  
'So this is how the great Knights of Silence behave when their fellow men are under attack,' he sneers. 'The people downstairs must be thrilled to have you as their ally.'

  


  
'You know very well we do not fight,' Yoda responds. 'It is not our way.'

  


  
'How convenient,' Voldemort mocks, and he shuts the door behind him.

  


  
His action muffles the battle sounds completely and the room turns awfully silent. It obviously has a Sound Deadening Charm around it. Lord Voldemort takes his time to examine the medium size room around him. It is quite bare. The walls are empty. There is a bed present in one of the corners and there is the rug, which Yoda is sitting on accompanied by his usual tray of tea supplies. Frankly, there isn't much to look at.

  


  
'Wonderful accommodations you have here,' Voldemort says tauntingly. 'I see you have moved up in the world.'

  


  
'Possessions are ballast, which drag a man down from his true purpose in life.'

  


  
There we go again with the fortune cookie wisdom. Lord Voldemort sighs. 'Yes, I am sure a table and some chairs would have been a real abomination to the Force of Nature.'

  


  
'I take it you have the Grangers,' Yoda enquires, ignoring the observations.

  


  
A vile smile graces his face when he responds to the monk's enquiry. 'You figured that out already, Dobbydore? Yes, I have Hermione's parents. It seems you are quite unable to protect anyone. I daresay it won't be long now before she is mine completely.'

  


  
Yoda looks at him sadly and shakes his head. 'Destroy her and you will destroy yourself, Tom.'

  


  
'I don't plan to destroy her, you fool. I will show her the meaning of power and how to wield it. She needs to let go of the ballast that is holding her down from her true purpose in life,' he mimics the monk's words with a large amount of glee.

  


  
'You will never be able to turn Hermione to the dark side,' Yoda states quietly. 'The girl's destiny has been long foretold. Her light powers are unmatched by any of the others that came before her. You will not sway her.'

  


  
'Won't I? Then tell me monk, why are her eyes currently as black as they can become?' and he starts laughing.

  


  
'As black as yours, Tom?' Yoda says with a small smile. 'The Glamour you placed on your eyes to make them look crimson may fool others, but I can see right through it. I wonder why you feel the need to hide your true self.'

  


  
'This colour is my true self. The Glamour,' Voldemort says and he points to his eyes, 'is only a temporary situation. I can assure you I intent to make full use of your death. It must be nice to know you are going to assist me to regain my immortality.'

  


  
'So careless you are with something so valuable,' Yoda says sorrowful. 'Is this how you plan to repay Hermione for helping you heal it? By tearing your soul apart again?'

  


  
Lord Voldemort narrows his eyes at the monk and he smiles. 'Actually, Hermione will receive a very generous gift from me for her assistance.'

  


  
Yoda gazes at him and nods. 'I thought you might take that road. She must mean a lot to you then.'

  


  
'The girl is quite extraordinary,' Voldemort replies.

  


  
'Yes, her powers are far greater than Lily's or Sally's. The Force did you a tremendous favour by placing Hermione on your path, Tom. I recommend you do not squander it like you did with the others.'

  


  
'What are you talking about?' Voldemort snarls suspiciously.

  


  
'You wouldn't understand now,' Yoda replies serenely. 'Perhaps someday you will. I only hope it won't be too late for you then. Hermione is your last chance. The Force does not show me another. Fail her and you will be doomed for eternity.'

  


  
Lord Voldemort sniffs arrogantly. By Merlin, this is even a bigger bunch of bull than normally. He will do the world a tremendous favour by relieving it of the presence of this mumbling idiot. He should have done it ages ago. 'Serny!' Lord Voldemort calls.

  


  
The cracking sound of a House-elf Apparating reaches his ears and the small, bat-eared creature appears before him. 'How can Serny assist his Master,' the elf squeaks.

  


  
'Make sure Hermione Granger gets dressed quickly, and then, bring her to me at once,' Voldemort barks at the House-elf.

  


  
'Yes, Master,' Serny responds before disappearing again.

  


  
Lord Voldemort watches with amazement as Yoda calmly pours his tea and takes the cup in his hands. It irritates him thoroughly. Why isn't he opposing him? What is the meaning of this? Perhaps he is waiting with his attack, until Hermione gets here. Yes, that is what he would have done. Well, he is more than ready. The Knight will be in for a surprise if he thinks he will be able to ambush him and take Granger away.

  


  
'I have no intention to fight you, Tom,' Yoda says softly, 'or take Hermione away from you. On the contrary, you are the one who needs her presence, not me.'

  


  
'Is that so,' Voldemort snarls and he stares at the monk in disgust.

  


  
He would never have thought it was possible, and if someone would have told him this when he was still in his teens, he would have cursed them into oblivion, but this monk irks him more than Dumbledore ever did. At least Dumbledore would have raised his wand in an attempt to protect others. Still, they are both cowards. Even Albus Dumbledore allowed another to fight his battle, a teenage boy no less. Voldemort snorts condescendingly. Like Potter was ever a match for him. Yes, Albus Dumbledore and Yoda, cowards who drink their tea and eat their candy, proclaiming their greatness from the sideline. It makes him sick. And what was that absurd mentioning of Lily and Sally about? Lily? He never knew a …

  


  
Shocked, Lord Voldemort glares at the tranquil monk. 'What has Potter's mother to do with this?' he hisses.

  


  
Yoda looks at him thoughtfully before responding. 'Just another chance you casually threw away, Tom.'

  


  
Lord Voldemort's laugh fills the room. 'A chance for me?' he sneers mocking. 'Don't you mean a chance for that Mudblood? I gave it to her, and she failed to take it, her loss not mine.'

  


  
Yoda merely arches an eyebrow.

  


  
'Three times I offered that foolish Unspeakable a chance to join my ranks despite her despicable bloodline, but Saint Evans refused me, ME, the greatest wizard of all,' he spits. 'She could have lived, but she forgot the concept of stepping aside, so I ended her disgusting existence. And for what?' Another laugh roars through the room. 'Her itty bitty baby boy died anyway.'

  


  
Triumphant, Lord Voldemort smirks at the monk. However, Yoda is merely drinking his tea quietly. It makes him want to heave and blast the man into non-existence, but Granger still isn't here. What is keeping that blasted House-elf? If it isn't here with her within the next couple of minutes, it is going to be very, very sorry. He starts pacing the room to and fro, while sparks fly from the wand in his hand. He blasts the bed to smithereens to relieve his temper and the monk doesn't even have the decency to flinch. No, the coot has the nerve to open his mouth and question his assessments concerning the broads instead.

  


  
'So I suppose it was Sally's fault too?' Yoda asks knowingly. 'You do remember Sally Woodburn, don't you Tom?'

  


  
He freezes on the spot and swirls toward Yoda. His eyes flash dangerously and he almost makes the mistake of casting the Killing Curse there and then, but he halts just on time. 'No Muggle is of any concern of mine,' Voldemort hisses, towering over the monk.

  


  
Yoda smiles. 'I see … so that is why you warded her house and protected her from your own followers.'

  


  
Barely visible, Lord Voldemort flinches. 'What would you know about that?'

  


  
'I recognise your magic, Tom, it was visibly present all over the Farnon Estate.'

  


  
'And you were there, because…?'

  


  
'I needed to talk with Mrs Farnon about her granddaughter,' Yoda replies casually.

  


  
'I doubt very much Sal would have wanted to talk to the likes of you,' Voldemort states evenly.

  


  
'You are quite right about that,' Yoda says shrugging carefree. 'It was very unfortunate that Mrs Farnon didn't want to talk to me. But I suppose it was understandable.'

  


  
Lord Voldemort is about to respond to that when another Apparation crack interferes with his plans. He swirls around to the source of the noise and sees a fearful House-elf holding onto a dishevelled and furious Hermione. He smiles broadly at the witch, who has obviously been dragged here against her will by Serny. He dismisses the House-elf with a simple wave of his hand and the creature disappears immediately. But the Dark Lord inadvertently takes a step backwards when he sees Hermione's dark eyes sparkle ferociously at him. She is so angry that she doesn't even notice the other occupant in the room.

  


  
'You!' she hisses and she pricks him furiously in the chest. 'You!' she repeats.

  


  
'Very eloquently stated,' he says, while giving her a teasing wink.

  


  
'You, you… ARGH!' she growls, and she throws her hands in the air in clear frustration.

  


  
Lord Voldemort takes a step forward, and smirking, he cups Hermione's face. 'So you have already figured out what potion I gave you, despite that I mixed it with a Calming Draught. Pray tell, when did the contents of Secrets of the Darkest Art come back to your memory? Because I have to say you really are my clever, little witch for making that connection so soon,' he says proudly.

  


  
'I am not yours and you are not turning me into a Horcrux,' Hermione snaps, determined.

  


  
'Oh,' Lord Voldemort says in mock disappointment and he starts clicking his tongue, knowing it will infuriate her even more. But she is so cute when she is angry, he just can't resist the temptation. 'I am afraid that reply isn't up to your usual standards, dear, because you are wrong on both accounts. And you should be thankful…'

  


  
'Thankful! Thankful!' Hermione roars in resentment. 'For what?'

  


  
He grabs a hold of her around the waist and pulls her against him. His hand takes a hold of the Amulet of Aine that is hanging around her neck uselessly. He is just confirming his suspicions, checking it to be absolutely certain, and now, he is. The Amulet is no longer a sparkling, glowing, active emerald. The deed is done and he, Lord Voldemort, achieved it without having to deal with the despicable concept of remorse. Sure, there were a few minor incidents, but he overcame those. No Elfin trinket would beat him, the greatest wizard of all. Finally, he is ready to take the next step to immortality once again. A harsh shove against his chest makes him stumble backwards and it pulls him out of his reminiscence.

  


  
'Well? Are you ever going to answer me! Or are you just going to continue staring at the stupid stone like a mindless idiot?' Hermione sneers and she folds her arms over each other. 'Because I am _so_ curious to hear what your delusional brain thinks I should be thankful for!'

  


  
Quickly, he glides back toward her, towering over her petite form, so she has to look up to face him. Not that it seems to impress or frighten her at the moment, because she is not backing away and is glaring at him angrily. It amuses him enormously. His life certainly became a lot more interesting when she entered it, his feisty magical counterpart.

  


  
'Because…,' he replies, halting briefly to enhance the impact, 'I was planning to transfer a part of my soul to you upon your father's death, but it seems I found a better patsy, so your daddy lucked out. Now, he will be declined the honour of assisting me in my quest for immortality.'

  


  
Hermione turns extremely pale upon the mere mention of her parents and he swirls her around to face the monk. She gasps when she sees Yoda, but it pleases the Dark Lord tremendously when he notices her eyes are still darting the room anxiously. She is obviously afraid her parents may be here somewhere too. He can't wait to see her expression when he confronts her with them. But he plans to wait until tomorrow, the nineteenth of September. After all, she is entitled to receive a birthday gift from him, isn't she? He chuckles internally at the deliciously, devious ploy he is setting his little dark witch up for, because that is exactly what she is; dark. He doesn't care what the fool on the floor says about it. Speaking of which, he can finally dispose of the monk. That fact alone is cause for a serious celebration.

  


  
'Yoda?' the girl in his arms asks concerned.

  


  
'Hello Hermione, it's always good to see you,' Yoda says cheerfully, and he puts down his teacup.

  


  
Lord Voldemort snorts. 'I wouldn't be expecting any assistance from him, my dear,' he whispers in Hermione's ear. 'He is allowing the others downstairs to be slaughtered as we speak.'

  


  
'What others?'

  


  
'Oh, just a couple of foolish people, who think they can oppose me.'

  


  
'Evil must be opposed,' Yoda states, nodding thoughtfully.

  


  
'As you are doing right now,' Voldemort sneers.

  


  
'There are many ways to oppose darkness. Not everything is about fighting battles and using magic as a tool of war and destruction.'

  


  
'Whatever,' Voldemort says tiresome, and he rolls his eyes. 'I will miss hearing those wondrous statements so much,' he mocks, while he raises his wand at the monk. 'Avada Kedavra!'

  


  
'NO!' yells Hermione, and she pushes his arm away.

  


  
The Killing Curse impacts on the wall to his right and blasts it out of the way permanently. A violent struggle follows between him and the wretched woman in his arms. 'Hold still or…' he hisses threatening.

  


  
She doubles over when his curse strikes her muscles. It's inflicting a cramp in every single one of them. So, in the end, he is able to subdue her and he adores how she feels in his arms, leaning against his chest, breathless and at his mercy. And he realises Yoda has monitored the exchange before him quietly. Lord Voldemort looks at the Knight of Silence with contempt. The man is just sitting there, doing nothing, when the person, who tried to save his pathetic life, is getting attacked before his eyes. He is utterly thrilled by the fact that Hermione will have to acknowledge this too. Her mentor did nothing, while she prevented certain death to hit the sorry-excuse-for-a-wizard. He kisses her on the cheek.

  


  
'So this is what you have tried to cling onto, dear,' he breathes against her skin. 'The famous light side; they sure are a lot of help to you now,' he sneers. 'Embrace your destiny, Hermione, embrace the darkness inside of you. Allow it to fill you up and become the most powerful witch this globe has ever seen.'

  


  
He watches her as she stares at Yoda in desperation. 'Leave, please leave,' she whispers to the monk.

  


  
The Knight smiles at her. 'I do not fear death, Hermione, as you know. I won't leave you, it is imperative that I stay.'

  


  
'See how the light fails you, Hermione, I promise you I won't,' Lord Voldemort says seductively. 'And you know it; your Patronus shows me you do.'

  


  
He sees how she closes her eyes at his words and how she barely visible shakes her head in a feeble attempt to convince herself. He tightens his embrace. He is swaying her now. Every fibre of his being is informing him of that. Just a little nudge in the right direction is all that is required here. So he pulls up the charm. 'Give in, my dear, follow your true instincts. I'll teach you everything I know, Hermione. I know you crave the knowledge. I know you want to learn for yourself what the Dark Arts are truly about. Let me teach you,' he insists.

  


  
Hermione bites her lip.

  


  
'There is no need to fear the Arts. I'll make sure you're safe, Hermione,' he adds persuasively. 'And you know _I_ always live up to my end of the bargain. My word is my bond. And you want to become mine; your darkness draws you to me.'

  


  
'It's her light that draws her to you,' Yoda corrects, interrupting him abruptly.

  


  
Hermione's eyes snap open. Damn that monk for interrupting him. He was so close. But then, to his utter delight, Hermione shakes her head at Yoda. 'My eyes … I am not light,' she whispers fearfully.

  


  
Yes! Finally, she admits the truth. His mouth captures hers and he devours her thoroughly. He wants to take her right there and then, but in the back of his mind a little nagging voice reminds him he needs to take care of business first. Hermione responds to his kiss. Business? What business could be so important to leave her luscious mouth? Surely, it can wait. Oh yeah, immortality, his main goal. Their tongues circle around in a passionate dance and he moans in her mouth. Really, he needs to focus, priorities, priorities. She sucks on his tongue. Yes, his priorities are… to take Hermione and ravish her body, become immortal, create another Horcrux, and kill the bloody monk. Or was it the other way around? Her arms sneak around his waist and she pulls him even closer. No, he thinks he had the order quite right the first time. What is he doing? Is he going mental or what?

  


  
Abruptly, he breaks the kiss and stares at the woman in his arms. Damn, that obnoxious compatible magic thing is continuously making him forget to use his brain and not follow his dick around. Annoyed with himself, he twirls Hermione around roughly, and she crashes with her back into him. He captures her waist with his left arm and his magic immobilises her completely. This time she will not interfere. However, now the blasted monk opens his mouth. He smirks condescendingly. This is, undoubtedly, going to be entertaining.

  


  
'Darkness is everywhere and in everyone, but only those who know its true nature can contain it,' Yoda says to Hermione. 'To be or not to be, it is your choice.'

  


  
'Insightful,' Lord Voldemort mocks. 'Some epitaph. Want me to engrave it on your tombstone?'

  


  
Slowly, he raises his wand at the monk with a vicious smile on his face. He is going to enjoy every single moment of this kill. 'Avada Kedavra!'

  


  
The jet of green hits the serene smiling monk right in the chest and Yoda is thrown through the air violently before he plummets down as a limp puppet whose strings have finally been severed. Quickly, he points his wand at his chest and a sequence of ancient syllables leaves his mouth fluently. A familiar, tearing pain strikes Lord Voldemort's chest the very moment his Soul-Removal Curse is cast and he almost doubles over. He presses his wand in Hermione's ribcage. Holy Circe, he forgot how much the first time hurts, and … how long it took before reaching completion.

  


  
He is standing there, waiting impatiently for a part of his severed soul to leave his body and enter the witch in his arms. She has closed her eyes and is probably waiting for the impact. It surprises him that she isn't pleading with him to stop. But he supposes she is smart enough to know that nothing she says will change his mind. He has to do this. Otherwise she will become a serious threat to him the moment she embraces her dark side and learns to control it fully. He needs to be able to control her before she becomes so powerful she could destroy him. And she would do it … he has no doubt about that.

  


  
Still, after the Nagini debacle he isn't too keen on placing a part of his soul in a living being again, but Hermione's mortality is something that can be dealt with later. Besides, he has plenty of time to make the other five Horcruxes he needs. It's not like he is old or in danger of dying anyway.

  


  
His wand trembles briefly and he feels Hermione's body jerk in his arms as a part of his soul enters her. He releases his magical hold over her and she starts shivering relentlessly now she is no longer being immobilised. He caresses her face and kisses her neck. 'It's all right, Hermione,' he whispers, while lifting her chin to look her in the eye. 'From now on I will always be with you to guide and protect you on your path ahead.'

  


  
Lord Voldemort closes his eyes and concentrates. A split-second later he looks up to himself and he sees a smile erupt on his snakelike features. It's kind of unusual looking at yourself in such a manner. Satisfied, he opens his crimson eyes and sees two dark ones stare at him horrified.

  


  
'Yes, my dear, and this is only a mere fragment of the power I now behold over you,' he says smirking, while stroking her bushy hair. 'I suggest you behave and be a nice, obedient, little witch or you will find out exactly what else my presence inside of you can evoke on that delectable body of yours.'

  


  
Hermione glares at him. 'When I find a way to kick you out of me, you will never know what hit you,' she hisses.

  


  
'Granger, you may try to fool yourself, but you don't fool me for a minute. I know how you feel about me, darling. I've seen your thoughts, your emotions, your reactions to me, and let us not forget that beautiful snake you conjured,' he grins. 'You like, _love,_ having me around. Well, think of it this way, now, I'll be with you always. Isn't it wonderful?'

  


  
'Yeah, like a dream come true,' Hermione sneers.

  


  
His laugh fills the room. 'Exactly,' he replies, and he winks at her. 'Now, why don't you get your cute arse home? I am sure there are still a lot of interesting volumes in my study you haven't read yet. And if you need help with the picking, I can always be of service,' he states cheerfully. 'I have to look into how things are going down here. But I know I can trust you to make it home alone with our combined magic, isn't that so, my sweet Horcrux?'

  


  
She narrows her eyes at him and he arches an eyebrow in response. 'Or do I need to assist you?' he asks deviously.

  


  
A crack sounds and she is gone from the premises. Triumphant, Lord Voldemort swirls away to the door. It's time to check on Sloan's progress and visit the Grangers. He is really looking forward to finally making acquaintance with Hermione's parents.


	27. Chapter 27

---  
  
**The bittersweet taste of victory**

  


  
_If this world is wearing thin  
  
And you're thinking of escape  
  
I'll go anywhere with you  
  
Just wrap me up in chains  
  
But if you try to go out alone  
  
Don't think I'll understand  
  
Stay with me  
  
Stay with me_

  


  
_In the silence of your room_  
  
 _In the darkness of your dreams_  
  
 _You must only think of me_  
  
 _There can be no in between_  
  
 _When your pride is on the floor_  
  
 _I'll make you beg for more_  
  
 _Stay with me_  
  
 _Stay with me_

  


  
_You'd better hope and pray_  
  
 _That you make it safe_  
  
 _Back to your own world_  
  
 _You'd better hope and pray_  
  
 _That you'll wake one day_  
  
 _In your own world_

  


  
_'Cause when you sleep at night_  
  
 _They don't hear your cries_  
  
 _In your own world_  
  
 _Only time will tell_  
  
 _If you can break the spell_  
  
 _Back in your own world_

  


  
_Stay with me_  
  
 _Stay with me_  
  
 _Stay, stay with me_  
  
 _Stay, stay, stay, stay, stay_  
  
 _Stay with me..._

  


  
Shakespeare's sister; Stay (with me)

  


  
**Chapter twenty-seven**

  


  
When I return back into Voldemort's quarters at Hogwarts, a House-elf is busy cleaning the place. I feel like screaming at the top of my lungs. But I blow up the living room table instead, and several couches, and while I am at it, I really hate that ugly dresser over there. Another Blasting Charm makes certain I never have to witness the preposterous, pompous dresser ever again and I smile feeling extremely content. From the corner of my eye, I notice the House-elf is disappearing fearfully because of my rage and it annoys me to tears. I am not aiming at the stupid creature, so why is it hurrying away like I am about to kill it? I am only doing some much needed redecorating. It's like they say: "a home just needs a woman's touch". So I trash every piece of furniture in range to make sure this woman's touch is visible all over the place.

  


  
'Much better,' I think smirking when I look at the debris that is now filling up the room, and I walk out of there absolutely pleased with myself.

  


  
Out of habit I walk to the study and slouch down in the couch. I pick up one of the books, but then I realise … I can't risk it anymore. The Amulet is dead. It stopped glowing. I am no longer protected from those Dark Arts volumes. I lean forward to place the book back on the table when a smooth voice inside of me speaks up.

  


  
'You know that book contains some very interesting theories on the uses of Arithmancy in Spell Creation.'

  


  
I halt my forward motion and stare at the book. Really? I love Arithmancy. It's my favourite subject. And I've read a bit about Spell Creation before, but I've never heard of Arithmancy being used in it. I lean backward and cross my legs to get in my comfortable reading stance. I open the book interested in its contents, and I feel very smug and pleased as I flip the leaves to go to the first chapter. Why do I feel that way?

  


  
I look up in confusion. And then, it hits me. The voice inside me… the same voice I heard when I wore the locket … the same voice I've heard over the past months. VOLDEMORT! I toss the book across the room furiously. My temper flies through the roof. I fling to my feet and start pacing the study to and fro, while my mind goes into overdrive. He killed Yoda and turned me into a Horcrux; the bastard. I have to do something about this. I resisted the locket too. I can do it again.

  


  
'You didn't wear the locket twenty-four/seven, dear,' Voldemort's taunting soul fragment states. 'Besides, you don't really want to resist me anymore. You want to give in. You need to give in. The darkness is already a part of you. I can sense it even more clearly now I am inside of you. It is already ingrained into your soul. Look into the mirror, my little, dark angel, and you know I am right.'

  


  
I don't need to walk to a mirror, because I can see my reflection in the dark glass of the side table. My eyes are pitch-black. Not that I need the reminder, because I already know what they look like nowadays.

  


  
'Such a beautiful onyx colour,' Voldemort purrs, 'pick up the book, Hermione, you know you want to read it.'

  


  
I keep looking at my eyes. Why have they turned dark? I haven't given in to him. I haven't!

  


  
'It's safe for you to read this book, my darling. It holds no booby-trap for the reader. It's just knowledge. There is nothing wrong with obtaining knowledge, is there?'

  


  
Like I am in a trance, I pick up the book. Well, he is right. A little knowledge never hurt anyone. Too bad this book won't contain the answer to why my soul has turned dark. And why did Yoda say that it was my Light side that drew me to Voldemort? That makes no sense whatsoever. But then again, Yoda had a tendency to not make any sense whatsoever. I stated I am not light and he said that darkness is everywhere and in everyone. 'HELLO!' I shout, pointing with my free hand frantically to my head. 'Black eyes! I don't recall that being a common feature in everyone.'

  


  
I shake my head and toss the book from one hand to the other. And then, Yoda turned into Jareth with the Hamlet phrase. And to top it all, he had to start babbling about darkness without giving me so much as one sane clue to what was the meaning of his rambling!

  


  
'Only those who know the darkness' true nature can contain it,' I mockingly repeat. 'There are many ways to oppose darkness. Not everything is about fighting battles and using magic as a tool of war and destruction. Pffftt… Well, I guess it is about drinking tea then. Maybe I can suck on a Lemon Drop, while I am at it.'

  


  
A soft snicker inside of me draws me out of my reminiscence. 'Get out of my mind, Riddle!'

  


  
'If you want to suck on something, Granger, I have a much better suggestion.'

  


  
'Look here, you pervert…'

  


  
'Tsk, tsk, tsk…,' he clicks disapprovingly WITH MY TONGUE! Like hearing him do it isn't aggravating enough, but he isn't done yet and starts whispering in my mind again. 'Those are your interpretations of my words, dearest, not that I think it isn't a good idea…' And he laughs loudly.

  


  
'Oh I am so going to kill you – you – you, annoying, irritating, obnoxious, vile, vicious, evil, murdering…'

  


  
'Charming, powerful, intelligent, passionate, cunning, immortal, omnipotent, and let's not forget to note my considerable talents in the sex department, which you seem to love so much,' Voldemort adds smirking.

  


  
Yeah, I just know that mutilated soul of his is smirking now.

  


  
'Does Narcissistic ring a bell?' I sneer at him. See, I knew I forgot an important aspect in my list before. 'Because let's face it, dearest,' I snarl, 'the only reason you turned me into a Horcrux is so you could fuck yourself. You better watch out not to drown into any pools of water that cross your path.'

  


  
'Concerned for my wellbeing?'

  


  
'No, I just think we have enough polluted water on this planet already. It would be a shame to allow your toxic presence to contaminate another piece of nature.'

  


  
'Jealous, doll?'

  


  
'What!'

  


  
'Admit it,' Voldemort responds smugly, 'you just can't stand the thought of having to share my … _toxic presence_ with something or someone else.'

  


  
I sputter indignantly. 'You are twisting my words around!'

  


  
Voldemort shrugs my shoulders. 'Am I now? I tend to disagree with your assessment, Hermione. I don't believe it is called twisting your words around; it is called having another opinion, one which is more valid than yours I might add.'

  


  
'Pray tell, why is your opinion more valid?' I mockingly ask.

  


  
'Because my judgement is not clouded by my emotions and feelings, dear, I can give you a rational argument, while your opinion is filled with your _love_ for me.'

  


  
'Oh, believe me; every time you open your mouth my _love_ for you is diminishing rapidly.'

  


  
'Prove it.'

  


  
'Uh?'

  


  
'If your love has diminished, why don't you prove it to me?'

  


  
'I just told you, which I believe is proof enough. But why don't you just check my mind and see how much I despise your guts.'

  


  
'Oh, I am sure you despise my actions, but that doesn't necessarily exclude feeling love for me.'

  


  
'What would you know about the subject? You don't even have a clue to how love feels.'

  


  
'True, but I read all about it.'

  


  
Now, I snort loudly and roll my eyes. Mr Bookworm read all about it and thinks that covers it.

  


  
'Oh yes,' Voldemort drawls, 'love is all about two people who start of hating each other with a passion, but they are doomed to be together due to silly circumstances they can't avoid or control. They are attracted to each other but push one another away, with lots and lots of panting, heaving bosoms, heated exchanges, perhaps even an unwanted kiss, and then, there is some misunderstanding (usually due to a nasty, third party) and a dreadful break up follows, after which they come back together due to a tragedy and she makes him see the light and he changes for the better. Of course, they live happily ever after.'

  


  
'Glad you are reading quality literature on the subject.'

  


  
'Don't you wanna teach me how to love, Granger?' Voldemort asks mocking. 'Turn me into a good, little boy? Help me see the light and feel remorse for my dreadful, terrible deeds?'

  


  
'Oh go fish.'

  


  
'My nonexistent heart is crushed,' Voldemort exclaims dramatically. 'You've broken it forever. Don't you realise how fragile someone is who has never known love and friendship? Now, I will never redeem myself and be saved.'

  


  
I sigh. Gosh, I definitely need to learn Occlumency against this rubbish. Have you ever heard such nonsense before? 'Will you shut up if I read this book?' I ask, while holding up the Dark Arts volume about Arithmancy in Spell Creation before my eyes, so he can see it too.

  


  
'Aha! So you admit you still love me,' is his smug response.

  


  
'I said no such thing,' I rebut indignant.

  


  
'You're unwilling to prove you don't,' he says silkily.

  


  
'That's just because you have a thick skull in which nothing I say seems to penetrate.'

  


  
'Why don't you cast a Patronus then? And we will see who is right here.'

  


  
'I don't have a wand.'

  


  
'You just trashed my living room without a wand, sweetie.'

  


  
'I don't think having you inside of me will make me capable of thinking happy thoughts,' I sneer. I slouch down on the couch victorious and open the book. After all, no one can cast a Patronus Charm without a strong cheerful emotion, so I win.

  


  
'On the contrary, I think having me inside of you will make you very, very happy,' Voldemort purrs.

  


  
Suddenly, he closes my eyes, crosses my legs and places my hands (palms up) on my knees. Syllables, I don't know the meaning from, leave my mouth in a numeric sequence, and I feel something impact on my body. He releases his hold on my body and allows me to control it again. Anxiously, I open my eyes and stretch my muscles to check my reactions, but everything seems fine.

  


  
'What did you do?' I ask suspiciously. Just because I am not noticing anything, doesn't mean I am in the clear.

  


  
'Too bad you haven't read the book yet, otherwise you would have known, Hermione,' Voldemort responds smugly. 'So I guess, now, you won't be ready and it will make a much bigger impact.'

  


  
'Impact on what?' I ask concerned.

  


  
'You'll see,' he teases.

  


  
_'Oooohhhhh,'_ I moan when the sensation hits between my legs, and I sink down further into the couch considerably. 'Fucking cheat.'

  


  
'Tsk, tsk, Hermione, language, language,' he reprimands chuckling. 'I am still waiting for your proof to how you do not love me,' he mocks.

  


  
'Why don't you just go and …' I start furiously, but I lose control over my body before I am even finished bashing him. Another stream of unidentifiable syllables leaves my lips against my will and instantaneously my body becomes weak, my muscles malfunctioning and my skin has never felt this sensitive as I crash off the couch groaning in desire.

  


  
'Hmm… this is an interesting experience,' Voldemort says contemplatively. 'I think I am going to enjoy having sex with you even more now.'

  


  
'Will you stop this?' I yell desperate from the floor, while I ache uncomfortably.

  


  
'What's the matter, dear? Need a release?'

  


  
I merely groan in response. 'Really, what a stupid question.'

  


  
'Tsk, tsk, tsk… And here I was considering helping you out, but now, I just have to investigate this body's vulnerabilities a bit further. Hope you don't mind,' he adds cheerfully. 'After all, I have never been inside a woman's body like this before. I am kind of curious to how it feels if certain parts get stimulated.'

  


  
I try to stop him from taking over again, but I fail miserably and he starts manipulating my body with magic from all angles. I throw my head backward violently and it hits the floor roughly, but I don't even notice, while I scream in wantonness. My nails scratch the rug on the floor as I twist and wriggle in desire. I clench my legs together and try not to lose my sanity, while Voldemort experiments with my sexual organs to a degree he has not done before. I can feel my fluids leaving my body and my pants are becoming so wet I will need to change when this is done.

  


  
Next thing my clothes are gone and he touches my body with my hands all over. He seems to be enjoying investigating what it feels like to be touched in certain ways to a woman. He massages my breasts and pinches my nipples. I can feel I am going to come when he strokes my clit with my fingers and starts inserting them inside of me. My muscles clench against my fingers in an agonising, throbbing feel. I need to be truly filled. This isn't nearly satisfying enough.

  


  
'Hmm… this really is unpleasant,' Voldemort concludes. 'I suppose being a man is much easier.'

  


  
'Just because _you_ don't know what the hell you are doing,' I sneer in between ragged breaths, 'doesn't mean a woman can't climax by herself.'

  


  
An arrogant snort is all the response I get. That man's ego is so incredibly, aggravatingly inflated I am surprised gravity is able to defeat it and allows him to remain earth-based.

  


  
'Nothing and no one defeats Lord Voldemort.'

  


  
I sigh. 'Well, then bloody do something about this, Mr Invincible,' I sneer in my head and point to my aching pussy.

  


  
'I didn't hear the magic words yet,' he teasingly replies.

  


  
'Fine, fine,' I snarl. He really can be such a baby at times. 'I love you. Are you happy now?'

  


  
'I don't think that sounded very sincere to me,' he states haughtily.

  


  
'Oh for crying out loud, stop tormenting me. I already find it horrific enough as it is that I feel this way. There is no need for you to rub it in. I love you; you vile, murdering lunatic.'

  


  
'Always the flattering words, Granger,' says someone, who is now definitely snickering inside of me. 'But I do remember waiting for certain proof of that statement.'

  


  
'I think your history is proof enough,' I respond dryly.

  


  
'The statement before that one,' he replies calmly, ignoring my pun.

  


  
'Well, I am not happy but incredibly needy right now, so you can just forget about any successful Patronus-Conjuring at all,' I rebut.

  


  
'Good point. I guess I should make you as happy as I feel then.'

  


  
And he cast a Patronus Charm to send a message to himself. A silvery stream leaves my head and I am watching how a hairy four-legged creature frolics around the room waggling its tail cheerfully. I can feel his shock and it becomes utterly silent inside of me.

  


  
I snort. 'That is your Patronus?' I giggle. 'And here I was expecting the Heir of Slytherin to have a Basilisk, or a Chimera, or a ferocious Dragon, or some other dangerous animal to be its protector.' I roar with laughter at the sight of men's best friend. 'I would send an owl too,' I mock, 'it's bound to get distracted if it sees a lamppost or a tree. And who knows what will happen if it runs into a Cat-Patronus,' I suggest, finding that visual very hilarious.

  


  
I have to clench on to my belly, because my laughter is causing my muscles to cramp considerably. My laughing fit at seeing Voldemort's Patronus also has the wonderful side-effect of not needing a release anymore. Nothing can top this. The big, bad Dark Lord has a dog Patronus, really. Pfftt… And still no response from the person inside of me. I can feel his confusion, while his obviously somewhat stubborn Terrier sniffs around the room, instead of delivering the message.

  


  
'Forgot to train it properly?' I hiccough. 'It seems to not be listening to your orders at all.'

  


  
Finally, as if on cue to my words, it decides to leave and charges off into the sky, but Voldemort waves my hand at it and it disintegrates completely.

  


  
'Oh,' I state in mock disappointment. 'I was so looking forward to teach it to roll over and play dead.'

  


  
'Why don't you just read the book, Granger,' Voldemort says quietly, 'or I will have you screaming on the floor in a manner you will find a lot less pleasant.'

  


  
I recognise that tone and I figure now is probably not a very good time to add another wisecrack.

  


  
'Scourcify,' I cast on my clothes.

  


  
I must say it is quite a relief to be able to do magic again without having to fight for its usage first. I scan my surroundings for the book and pick it up, before I plummet down in the couch with it. As I imagined, it is thoroughly interesting. Spell Creation on its own is one of the most difficult subjects out there and this volume describes into intricate detail how Arithmancy can enhance the spells that already exist or the spells that you create.

  


  
_'Numeric sequencing can thoroughly establish achievements unseen before. The number three, known for its mental agility, can also be used to strengthen the results of the Confundus Charm. In this state one can use the power of the three by placing the planner, dreamer and critic against one another thoroughly and it will prolong the state of the Confundus Charm indefinitely. A Countercharm will surely fail when the mind is at war with itself, being that the critic mind cannot be silenced as it could be by a Runespoor, which is seen as the origin to the number. Memory Charms and Memory-Modifying Charms can also benefit from this number. Although the mind always remains a tricky matter to cast upon. Many have searched for a true Wit-Enhancement Charm, but so far the only one to achieve that feat has been the legendary Rowena Ravenclaw, who used said Charm on the lost diadem. The knowledge to the charm has gone lost with the item in question and Ravenclaw's unfortunate early demise.'_

  


  
I can't resist a cough here. 'Look at the loss of knowledge that stupid Founders' fetish of yours resulted in,' I sigh.

  


  
'I wasn't the one who destroyed the item, my darling.'

  


  
'You destroyed it the moment you violated it with such dark magic.'

  


  
'You are assuming Ravenclaw didn't use dark magic to create the diadem,' Voldemort says calmly, 'which considering the nature of the volumes that even name the numeric sequencing knowledge is a big if, Hermione. It wouldn't surprise me one bit if the diadem was constructed with dark magic. Or didn't you pay attention in History of Magic? I know Binns is boring, but his subject certainly is very enlightening at times.'

  


  
'This is a pointless discussion,' I state, 'because we can never be sure for real.'

  


  
'But you got to admit it is an intriguing concept, Hermione, a former Founders' item being mentioned in a Dark Arts Volume such as this. Besides, don't tell me you find the contents of this book not worthy of existence or something that should be banned, like it was in your days at Hogwarts?'

  


  
He's got me there, because if there is one thing I have always been against it is the banning of books. 'Did you ever use this theory in any of the spells you created?' I ask, appealing to his vanity as a diversion.

  


  
'Using the number nine in sequence when casting Fiendfyre creates very interesting results,' he says without elaborating.

  


  
'Nine?' I think puzzled. 'Nine … known for its poisonous attributes.'

  


  
'Indeed.'

  


  
But I really don't see the point there, because who needs poison when you've got a blazing fiery anim… And my eyes widen when I realise the purpose of using nine. In Ancient Runes the number nine is resembled by the Hydra! If you use nine in your casting of Fiendfyre it will take the Hydra's form. Not a pleasant sight to see charging at you. Of that I am sure, remember Crabbe's botched up attempt. I wonder if the breath of the Fiendfyre Hydra would also be poisonous.

  


  
'Oh yessss, if you cast it in the correct intervals.'

  


  
'Oh, that's – that's just … overkill.'

  


  
'That is one way of putting it. I personally prefer calling it an added bonus. But can't you figure out another reason for using the number nine?'

  


  
I frown. A Fiendfyre Hydra… the nine heads … cut one off and you get two new ones in its place, but you can't cut off heads of a Fiendfyre creature, because the fire roars and bellows around anyway. So that is useless…'

  


  
'You were close,' Voldemort interrupts, when I want to move on to other possibilities.

  


  
'Close? I was close with the cutting off the heads?' I ask, confused, because it makes no sense whatsoever.

  


  
But now, there is no response to my question. It remains tauntingly silent inside of me. Jerk.

  


  
'Cutting off the Hydra Heads...?' I stare at the ceiling. 'It is fire. You can't cut through fire. You can extinguish it, though it will take some doing to extinguish Fiendfyre, but it…' And I slam my hand in front of my mouth. 'Using nine makes the Fiendfyre inextinguishable to anyone…'

  


  
'…beside the caster,' Voldemort finishes, and I can sense how pleased he is. 'I knew you'd figure it out quickly, Hermione.'

  


  
'Nine ensures the Hydra's immortal head will preserve the state of the Fiendfyre you cast, but how do you extinguish it yourself then?' I ask.

  


  
'By re-sequencing,' we both answer simultaneously in my head.

  


  
I feel very happy to have solved it. This really is useful information. And I continue reading the book quickly. When I am done, I slam it shut contemplatively. I can see so many practical uses for this theory, but this book doesn't even begin to scratch the surface. It's actually a bit of a disappointment. It's only listing a couple of Arithmancy options without thoroughly acknowledging the Ancient Runes theories, which really lay behind it all. Oh, it's mentioned here and there, but the book is fixating on the Divination with numbers' parts of Arithmancy, while you could use the ordering of the numbers in a much more useful manner to enhance Spells, if you combine the entirety of Ancient Runes into this and not just mention it as an occasional example.

  


  
'I was wondering if you would notice that,' Voldemort's soul speaks up. 'It's because of this omission why mistakes are made when people follow this theory blindly. It's also why so many people think this book is rubbish, because the rules in this book won't always work, since Ancient Runes is the true foundation of it, not Arithmancy.'

  


  
'Yes,' I begin ranting enthusiastically, 'if you take the Ancient Runes' meanings of the numbers and use the numbers accordingly to that in your ordering of the charms you can create much more force behind them. The Graphorn's hide is known to repel spells, so number two can make an Impervius or a Protego much more effective. And think about all the good you could do with Healing Charms if you use six in them. The restorative properties of the Salamander's blood are legendary, but you can replace it simply by using this theory. Eight can help with anything you need to reveal that is hidden… every Revelio will reach further than it would without it. And the Demiguise's ability to make itself invisible could make a Dissillusionment Charm work fully… oh no, you can't sequence zero. Damn.'

  


  
'So don't sequence it.'

  


  
'That's how you make yourself invincible without showing the usual flicker of disturbance on the objects behind you!' I reply amazed.

  


  
Voldemort shrugs my shoulders. 'It's the easiest charm to enhance of them all.'

  


  
'And it is due to zero's basic properties that a Dissillusionment Charm is already pretty difficult to detect on its own,' I reply thoughtfully.

  


  
'Exactly, not many people understand the power of numbers in the spells they cast. It can take disastrous turns like some fools have already proven in the past,' he states annoyed.

  


  
I raise my eyebrows. That sounded as if he was referring to something that hindered him in the past considerably and something like it could be useful information for me. I wonder… Wait a second, the number three!

  


  
'Granger,' his voice states alarmed in my head. 'I wouldn't go there if I were…'

  


  
'Legilimency,' I cast triumphantly, in a triangular sequence.

  


  
_Three kneeling bodies are on the ground before me. They are my most loyal servants: Rabastan, Rodolphus and Bellatrix. They are in rags and look horribly, while I stroll casually around them, twirling my wand in my long, spidery fingers contemplatively. My eyes turn back to the wall I so recently blasted into oblivion. A smile forms on my face as I see the sky above the ocean is swarming with Dementors, forming a barrier no Auror will be able to penetrate tonight. My old allies have returned to me, as I knew they would. Not that I need to worry about Aurors, because Fudge is such a fool. He will probably blame Black for this, like Potter's little friend could accomplish this feat. My cold laugh resonates loudly through the remains of the wizarding prison. I will enjoy reading the ministerial rubbish the Daily Prophet will print tomorrow. But still, I have to deal with the three idiots on the floor first._

  


  
_'You have let me down, Bella,' I state coldly. 'You all let me down.'_

  


  
_A shiver runs through Rabastan Lestrange, but as I expected Bella is the one to respond with her usual devotion, thinking that will make up for her errors._

  


  
_'My Lord, we were trying to locate your physical body. Frank Longbottom was the Auror in charge of disposing of it. So we tortured his wife to make him tell, but he still refused.'_

  


  
_'So you thought making him insane as well would help him remember to tell you were to find it,' I sneer._

  


  
_'He wasn't supposed to go insane,' Bella responds weakly, glancing at her husband._

  


  
_'We had barely cast the Cruciatus Curse on him and he went insane almost instantaneously, Master,' Rodolphus adds desperately._

  


  
_Pathetic, they really are pathetic. 'Let me guess,' I snarl menacingly, having already seen the events in their little minds. 'The FOUR of you took turns in casting the curse and upon the FOURTH time he went insane.'_

  


  
_It remains silent._

  


  
_'Did you forget the rules I gave you on how to properly apply the Cruciatus Curse?' I quietly speak. 'Or did you think you could abandon them, because I was not present at the time?'_

  


  
_'No, my Lord, we wanted you back. We were in a hurry and we thought...'_

  


  
_'Crucio!' I cast, because I really never, ever allow morons to do any thinking. It's due to their idiocy that I remained without a body for thirteen years. Thirteen! A deep fury builds up inside of me and I aim at the next one_.

  


  
A gasp escapes my lips when I suddenly see the study chamber again. Voldemort has kicked me out of his memory. 'Impressive Granger, but I recommend you do not try that again, unless you want to invoke my wrath,' he quietly states.

  


  
But I pay no attention to the voice and it becomes solemnly silent inside of me, while I consider what it means that I just saw. They cast the Cruciatus Curse in a numeric fourth sequence on Neville's father. I close my eyes. The song of the Fwooper causes insanity. Inadvertently, the Death Eaters prevented themselves from ever given Frank Longbottom even the slightest opportunity to give in to them and tell them where the body was located. Although, I sincerely doubt he would have told them anyway, if Neville's brave character was anything to go by. This… All this is just plain horrific. I know that is how I should feel about it, but what is disturbing me most is that it isn't affecting me as it used to do. The Dark Arts keep on drawing me in further.

  


  
And I keep on reading their theories and I actually enjoy talking with Voldemort about them. I see the books on the shelves that I have already read and I can feel their influence now. I can feel the darkness ensnaring me. For a second I glance at the useless Amulet that is still hanging around my neck. Curiosity, surely, did kill the cat. I see the red file with my name on it. It's still lying on the table. Somehow, it seems to be calling to me, but I ignore it. Professor Dumbledore was right not to trust me. I cannot be trusted. I have always been drawn to the dark side. I can still see Draco's face after "little Draco" turned just into that ... little. Extremely little. A snort escapes my lips and I start giggling. I wonder how he managed himself in the Slytherin's showers after a Quidditch match, because I know for sure who would have come in last after a measuring contest.

  


  
'Daddy dearest paid for a private shower, so it would not reflect back on him,' Voldemort responds and I notice he is snickering too.

  


  
Now, I roar with laughter. My 'little' curse made Lucius Malfoy afraid that people would gossip and spread the word around that Draco's small accessory was genetic? If I would have known that at the time, I would have enjoyed it even more. It's hilarious.

  


  
'If you think that was funny, Hermione, then you really should have seen the look on Parkinson's face when she tried to get some from Draco and cast their clothes away before he could stop her.'

  


  
'No!' I shout out loud in joy. 'Oh, I can't believe I missed that,' I say disappointed.

  


  
'I still have Draco's memory of it,' Voldemort teases, 'care to witness it?'

  


  
'Yes,' I reply excitedly. 'No,' I add shocked, realising what I was about to do. It would be such an invasion of their privacy and it is not like it is information that I need to know, even if it is very, very tempting to take a peek at something that entertaining.

  


  
'Your loss,' Voldemort says casually, 'but Parkinson did make quite a legendary remark about needing a magnifying glass and there was some wisecrack about a lollipop, before she left.'

  


  
I start laughing again. I really shouldn't, but I am. I used an irreversible Dark Arts Curse that could have got me a one-way ticket to Azkaban if Draco had had the nerve to tell on me. But he never dared. He was such a coward and I made sure he knew his size would be front page news on the Daily Prophet should I ever see the inside of the Wizengamot over this. So I got away with pretty much screwing over any chance of him ever getting any at all.

  


  
'And let's not forget you protected the world from having to deal with more Malfoy offspring, since Lucius dabbled with the wrong curse and sterilised himself,' Voldemort says snickering. 'No more whining cowardly blonds… Hooray to that! You deserve a medal for special services to society, Granger. Really, you should have heard how Abraxas could whine when his mummy forgot to send him his sweets. But he learnt to stop doing that around me pretty quickly after I gave him something real to whine about.'

  


  
'He sterilised himself by botching up a curse?' I snort, still not over the fact the high-and-mighty Lucius Malfoy goofed up so badly. 'No wonder he had so much resentment against Arthur Weasley.'

  


  
This is all very enjoyable. I am laughing my head off. I can so…

  


  
A flash of light comes from the file on the table; my file. Stunned, I stare at it as it opens on its own accord and I see how the page turns blank after which new words erupt on it. Carefully, I walk toward the table and start reading.

  


  
_Dear Hermione,_

  


  
_I've enchanted this file to show you this letter the moment you would be alone with this file and in need of this information. If you are reading this now, it must mean that things didn't work out as I hoped they would and I must have failed you and Harry._

  


  
_First of all, I want to apologise for some of the things I wrote down in this file about you. I am sure Lord Voldemort must have let you read some of my nasty comments to sway you to join him, but you have my word those comments are not representative of my true feelings about you. I have always seen you as one of the brightest, most intelligent and loyal witches whom I ever had the pleasure of knowing. I know you are the best friend Harry was fortunate enough to have and I may not have credited you enough for everything you've done over the years, because I feared it would draw unwanted attention to you from the one person you are, no doubt, fighting right now._

  


  
_I am aware that on many occasions you have prevented disaster to happen and I duly apologise for not having done something about the woman you so eloquently called 'The Toadface' at the time. Although, I have a feeling the name might have been Ron Weasley's invention? You will probably realise now why my focus was elsewhere, but you were right when you said that the students' wellbeing was my first responsibility and that I failed to do a proper job as Headmaster if I did not stop Dolores from torturing the students._

  


  
_In hindsight I should have done just that and not focus on the whereabouts of Voldemort's Horcruxes alone. I knew the Ministry was planning to take over Hogwarts and I did not want to give them the ammunition to do it sooner, but I should have taken her out of the equation. Anybody else would have been an improvement. And the Ministry's actions were inevitable anyway. So you were perfectly justified with your complaints to me at the time. And I must admit I applaud your forwardness and your bravery in standing up for your fellow students, because you were the only one who confronted me with the fact that I was not approaching the matter correctly._

  


  
_So, after reading this, you are probably wondering why I felt the need to make a fake student file of you. And my answer will be most unsatisfying, because the truth is I was asked to do so by the lead Knight of Silence. Knowing you, I am probably telling you something you already read somewhere, but the Knights are a powerful monk community in Tibet whom represent Light magic. I was not in the position to ignore the request when it was made, since I owe them a lifelong wizarding debt. They are the ones who saved me from darkness and without them I would have never seen Gellert in the light I should have seen him in from the start. My love for him blinded my moral judgement and to this day it is still hard for me to remember how close I came to fall into that abyss myself._

  


  
_I know you recognise that abyss, Hermione. I know it had to have been you who cursed Draco. But I've also seen how you grew and fought off the darkness that is a part of all of us. Only for some of us that fight is harder, because the temptation is so great when you have the magical power to control and use it thoroughly. So your ability to control and suppress your dark side at such a young age truly impressed me and I have every faith in you and your determination to continue to control the darkness._

  


  
_But I am straying from the real issue here: your file. I handed the Knight your real Hogwarts' student file and replaced it by this phoney one with the comments as he requested. Of course I asked him why he felt these changes were imperative, but all I got was one of his usual puzzling remarks. 'She, who is the one, will know why. It is not up to us to decide.'_

  


  
_If you ever meet them, or have met them, you will know those kind of aggravating remarks are somewhat their trademark reference. I am sorry to say I lost track of the number of times I blew up that white building of theirs when I lived there. However, I felt very uncomfortable leaving a file behind that I felt was unjustified, so I left you this message and with it comes the power to proof this file is false, should future circumstances ever require it._

  


  
_I knew when you first came to Hogwarts you had a magical connection to Lord Voldemort. I was already informed of this by the same Knight. It was the reason that for a moment I was concerned he might have taken you over and opened the Chamber of Secrets through you during your second year at Hogwarts. I am positive you remember our conversation in the library and my rather crude invasion of your privacy, even though you did not notice it at the time. Fortunately, Tom's obsession with immortality and Harry caused him to miss out on the connection that exists between you both when he inhabited Professor Quirrell's body during the end of your first year._

  


  
_Now, Magical counterparts are a very rare phenomenon. The only other one known in history is the one between Merlin and Viviane. And little is known about their relationship, since all that remains from that era is Merlin's book and a lot of myths and legends that even contradict one another. I am sure you would love to know how Viviane had concurred Merlin, but she never told a soul. I know you must have researched everything about it, just as I did, and I am positive Voldemort will have done the same when he found out about your connection. I gather you both came up with similar results as I have; meaning pretty much nothing._

  


  
_However, I believe the Knights of Silence may have the information you need. To this day they still remain silent about it to me and refused to explain the matter, but on the day I left the monastery one of the monks followed me out and said something to me I didn't understand at the time and still don't. I hope it will make sense to you, because this much I do know … it involves you, Hermione._

  


  
_**"For a decade Darkness will rule and Everon will rise. A choice must be made by the Founder of SPEW. She alone beholds the key to ultimate victory for one. Everon will rise."**_

  


  
_I am sorry I can't be of more help to you, because as much as I researched everything on Everon I came up empty-handed. I hope you are able to somehow speak with one of the monks about this, and I hope they will be a bit more forthcoming to you as they were to me._

  


  
_Wishing you all the best,_

  


  
_Albus Dumbledore_.

  


  
Suddenly, the letter disappears to be replaced by its original text and the file closes up again.

  


  
'Well, that was insightful,' Voldemort mocks inside of me, 'it's a good thing Dumb-bore took all sorts of precautions to prevent me from reading that. It really worked out great,' and he snorts loudly. 'Like I ever took his unusual conclusions and observations about you seriously in the first place, but I gotta say it is interesting to hear who was truly behind it all. I am so glad I killed the little manipulative bugger.'

  


  
'Everon? Ultimate victory for one?' I think and I look thoughtfully at the Amulet. 'Not to me,' Maglor said when Voldemort asked him whether it was going to be a problem that he fumbled around with the powers of the Amulet of Aine.

  


  
_'The Elders wanted me to let you know that you will always be welcomed back in Everon with the highest regards, Miss Granger,' Silimaurë says, making a small bow to me, and with a devious, Elfish wink he disappears with a loud crack._

  


  
The Elders had not said a single word to me, while I was there. And all of the sudden, I would be welcomed back with the highest regards? They despised me. I could feel it. Maglor was the only one of the Elves who even spoke to me. _'Everon will rise.'_ Somehow, it comes across as ominous to me.

  


  
'A bunch of elves are not an issue for the both of us. I think the more pressing matter is the …,' Voldemort starts.

  


  
It's when the door opens and Alphonse Mulciber walks in, causing Voldemort to halt whatever he was planning to say to me. I look up from the couch at the Death Eater, whose eyes are darting the room like he is searching for something. A wary feeling begins to grow inside of me and I realise the emotion is not coming from me, but from Voldemort's soul. I arch an eyebrow because of it, and I stare at Mulciber who still isn't speaking, but he is standing there, tapping with his hand on his leg.

  


  
'Can I help you?' I sneer condescendingly.

  


  
'Is the Dark Lord in?' Mulciber asks, and he throws a barely veiled demeaning glance at me.

  


  
'How should I know?' I retort, irritated. 'I am neither his travel planner nor his keeper.'

  


  
And I see how his hand stops tapping and he starts rubbing his neck. Somehow, he comes across as somewhat indecisive to me. I don't know why, but…

  


  
'Get on your feet, Granger, and watch out. He is planning something,' Voldemort, suddenly, says.

  


  
'What? Surely, he is not that stupid,' I respond in my mind, a bit dumbfounded, but I rise from the couch just the same.

  


  
'Do not underestimate Mulciber, Granger, he is not a magical dolt like the others,' sounds through my skull at the same time as Mulciber starts to talk again.

  


  
'So, you are alone here, Mudblood,' Mulciber says menacingly.

  


  
'Oh dear, such an original insult, I am all devastated and destroyed now. I'll go run away and cry in the other room now,' I mock.

  


  
'If you are trying to aggravate him to curse you, Granger, may I remind you that I am inside of you, so that magical pathway might not respond as it normally would. Whatever curse he casts is probably going to hit you now,' Voldemort says warningly.

  


  
'Shut up, I can't think if you are continuously interrupting me,' I mentally hiss back.

  


  
'Everyone knows that it is not exactly crying what the Dark Lord's whore does in the 'other' room,' Mulciber sneers back.

  


  
I feel a fury rise inside of me that isn't mine. 'Stay out of this,' I warn Voldemort, who I can hear mumbling something about insolent Death Eaters.

  


  
'Are you now accusing me of servicing the Dark Lord?' I ask Mulciber smirking, and I fold my arms over each other and cock my head before continuing in the same demeaning tone of voice. 'From the two of us here in the room, which one has a sign of ownership on his arm? But I'll give you points for originality. Nobody else has had the nerve to call me a whore before. Especially not after what happened to Lestrange, but maybe you have a death wish?'

  


  
A wand appears in Mulciber's hand. 'I don't know how you do it, Mudblood, but ever since you arrived here people keep dying, because of you.'

  


  
'Maybe they died, because they weren't too bright,' I hear my mouth move.

  


  
'Get out, move, you can't take over now,' I hiss, and I focus to regain back the control over my body. 'Occlumency,' I cast, adding the power of three to it.

  


  
I might as well use the knowledge I just gained. And it works! My body and mind is once again under my control.

  


  
'Maybe they died, because somehow you found a way to cloud the Dark Lord's judgement,' Mulciber responds.

  


  
Now, I start laughing.

  


  
'Laugh all you want, Granger, but I heard the rumours and I have seen first hand his responses to you aren't normal.'

  


  
I scratch my head. This actually is very amusing, because as far as I can tell I had zero effect on the man. He still tortures and kills. He found a way to fool the Amulet, so he didn't have to feel remorse for his deeds. He ripped his soul again. He turned me into a Horcrux. Oh joy! Yeah, that is all totally abnormal and out of character for him. 'You are seeing things,' I say snorting.

  


  
'So my wife's death never happened,' Mulciber speaks, while narrowing his eyes at me.

  


  
Finally, the cat is out of the bag. 'So that's what this is about,' I reply calmly. 'You should ask the person responsible and stop bothering me.'

  


  
I pretend to turn my back to him, so I see the movement and dive over the couch just before the curse blasts it to smithereens. 'Stupify!' I reply wandless, but it rams Mulciber's very adequate shield instead.

  


  
He smirks. 'I know my wife, Eveline. She would have never done anything against the Dark Lord's will!' he shouts, while casting a curse that I divert easily.

  


  
'Expelliarmus!' I cast.

  


  
Mulciber flies through the room and hits the wall, but he's still able to hold on to his wand. Damn, that man is good.

  


  
'Will you stop casting these useless charms and bloody do what you are truly capable off,' Voldemort snarls, while Mulciber's curse connects with mine and sparks are electrifying the air around us. He breaks the connection first and dives out of the path of my curse, while casting the Cruciatus Curse as he rolls over the ground. It almost hits me.

  


  
'Watch it, Granger,' Voldemort hisses.

  


  
The curses are now flying back and forth effortlessly, and mine are becoming darker and darker by the second. The power inside me grows and I begin to laugh, while waving Mulciber's curses away lazily. I am not even moving anymore. Gosh, this is so easy. My cold laugh is infuriating the Death Eater beyond belief and he growls, while trying an Imperio. It's Mulciber's trademark curse. It's what he does best, so I let it hit me, and then … I wink at him to mock his skill.

  


  
'Maybe you should practise first before trying,' I suggest quietly. 'Or you should have used that feeble mind of yours before attacking someone with superior skills.'

  


  
'He killed my wife, and now, I will kill his whore!' Mulciber snarls.

  


  
My eyes flash.

  


  
'Avada Kedavra!'

  


  
Simultaneously, the Killing Curses get casts. It's invigorating as it leaves my hand. The sheer power is thrilling. I take great delight in the casting of this curse. And I witness how two green jets of light pass each other, but only one hits its alleged target, because I calmly step out of its path, while Mulciber drops to the ground like a sack of potatoes. Coldly, I stroll over to the lifeless body and look down upon the empty eyes that stare towards me. So, this is what true power feels like. I examine my emotions as I look at the man I killed. Ain't I supposed to be sorrowful or sad now? Ain't I supposed to feel something, anything? I killed a human being and it really doesn't make me hot or cold. Frankly, I just don't care. I shrug my shoulders and turn around. I need to go to Tibet and visit the Knights of Silence.

  


  
'Bad idea, Hermione, I think we will stay here,' Voldemort replies softly. 'Your birthday is coming up and my other self has a nice surprise for you.'

  


  
'I think the Everon thing Dumbledore referred to is important, and I am going to find out what it means,' I say certain.

  


  
'You think the Knights will talk to you?' Voldemort asks, and he is shaking my head. 'All they ever do is give people meaningless riddles, even Dumby agrees with me on that.'

  


  
'I need to know what those sentences mean, and I have a feeling it is important for you to know too,' I rebut.

  


  
'The only sentence I care about is the one which stated you were the key to ultimate victory, my dear Hermione, and since you are mine, it is obvious what the sentences meant. Everon will rise and we will be victorious,' he states smugly. 'I will rejoice in blasting those elves away. And I made a promise with myself to make a nice Horcrux upon Maglor Silimaurë's death. So I feel we don't need to go anywhere.'

  


  
'Too bad, because I feel we do and I am leaving.'

  


  
'I won't allow you, my dear.'

  


  
'It's not up to you, darling,' I reply, matching his smugness. 'You can't stop me. Remember that little tale you told me in the garden of your late father's house after we had sex the first time? How you went on about how your mind controls your magic and depends on your body's independence? Well, I didn't want to disturb your little victory streak back then, so I am sorry to break it to you now, but you left out a very significant detail there. You see it's not only the mind and the body that are responsible for the control someone has over his magic. You forgot about something vital. Something that Merlin identified as love, but it is more than love alone. It is the one thing you so casually keep ripping apart. It's mind, body and soul, dearest. The power of those three combined is what really gives a person the biggest control over their magic. We have given each other our body, so that basically balances out any advantage, but you freely handed me half of your soul, the very essence of your being. So I think you won't be able to stop me. I truly have the advantage here.'

  


  
Without waiting for his response, I spin on the spot, and with a crack, I Apparate to Tibet. A strange smile graces my face as I see the familiar building. I don't have to wait long before one of the monks welcomes me.

  


  
'Hermione, it's good to see you again. Yoda told us you would come.'

  


  
My eyes darken, but I nod courteously. 'It's good to hear I am expected. I need to speak to whoever is in charge now,' I order coldly.

  


  
'Naturally, if you follow me?'

  


  
And we quietly move along the familiar paths towards the main building.  
  
---


	28. Chapter 28

---  
  
**The bittersweet taste of victory**

  


  
_And so I sent some men to fight  
  
And one came back at dead of night  
  
Said he'd seen my enemy  
  
Said he looked just like me  
  
So I set out to cut myself  
  
And here I go_

  


  
_And maybe someday we will face_  
  
 _And maybe talk but not just speak_  
  
 _Don't buy the promises cause_  
  
 _There are no promises I keep_  
  
 _And my reflection troubles me_  
  
 _So here I go_

  


  
_I'm not calling for a second chance_  
  
 _I'm screaming at the top of my voice_  
  
 _Give me reason, but don't give me choice_  
  
 _Cause I'll just make the same mistake_

  


  
_So while I'm turning in my sheets_  
  
 _And once again I cannot sleep_  
  
 _Walk out the door and up the street_  
  
 _Look at the stars_  
  
 _Look at the stars falling down_  
  
 _And I wonder where_  
  
 _Did I go wrong_

  


  
James Blunt; Same mistake.

  


  
**Chapter twenty-eight**

  


  
When he Apparates back into the UK, into the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic, Lord Voldemort looks around him satisfied. He knows that wherever he goes, his appearance is as imposing as ever. He has not chosen his snakelike, bald, gruesome features for no reason at all. So he doesn't need to see himself to be aware that his black cloak is swirling around his tall, skeleton frame as if he is the embodiment of Death himself. A smile forms on his thin lips when he takes under consideration he has the same power as the Grim Reaper. No, his power is even more impressive, because he, Lord Voldemort, the greatest, most feared wizard of all, will never die himself.

  


  
His Apparation has the usual effect on people. They, suddenly, pretend to remember they have very urgent business elsewhere – meaning anywhere but nearby him – and they hurry away fearfully, which enables him to have a clear path to where he is going. Perfect. This is what he always wanted. This is why he prefers this appearance over his old one. He enjoys the fear it raises. It's a true testament to the power he beholds over everyone and everything, everywhere and at any given time. He realises there are many people, mainly women, who would prefer to watch his more human, cute, handsome Tom Riddle features, but he is not here on this earth to please others or to do what they prefer. No, other people are sent to this earth for his pleasure and to satisfy his needs, whether they want to or not. It doesn't really matter to him if it is the one or the other, as long as he gets his way. And he always does, always, because he has the power to make people do his bidding and fulfil his needs. Even that little, insolent Gryffindor is now his forever. His eyes sparkle with delight when he thinks of Hermione Granger, and he is unaware of the bemused glances several people give him as they pass quickly.

  


  
Yessss, everything went as he wanted, as it should. The slight twinge in his chest at this concept he ignores, because he is not bored. No, he is not bored at all. He made his magical counterpart, Hermione, his first Horcrux by killing that idiot monk and as an added bonus she is now completely under his control, while he is well underway of becoming just as immortal as he was before. Soon, he won't even need to use those annoying Glamour Charms anymore, because his eyes will turn back into the deepest shade of crimson on their own after a couple of more Horcruxes. All he needs now are some objects worthy to contain his soul and power. This is what he values most in life: power, magical power, not looks or other frivolities. And he knows … power he has plenty to boot. He can feel it flowing through his veins, electrifying his nerves, activating his muscles and heightening his senses when need be. This is the dark power he holds so dear. It enables him to do things others only dream of, because they lack the necessary skill and intelligence to control it. Speaking of others… what is keeping that dolt Liam Sloan?

  


  
On cue the dolt and his merry men Apparate in with a couple of prisoners. Lord Voldemort smirks at the pink-haired woman, whom Sloan is holding in a tight grip. Tonks is barely able to stand due to the after-effects of his curse, but she is still very capable of sending him glares, which would be deadly had she possessed such power instead of the useless one of metamorphosing herself. Now, her furious glares only serve to elevate his amusement, since those duly remind him of someone else and he is a tad bit bored without her, just a bit, not much; definitely not much. Lord Voldemort takes a step towards Sloan and he notices the slight movement backwards that Tonks is trying to make. Scratch the reminding. If there is one thing Hermione does not, it is cower away in fear. He sighs. Yes, they are all boring, utterly dull and predictable.

  


  
'Get rid of the werewolf's trash, Liam,' Lord Voldemort orders condescendingly. 'We have real business to attend to and you have delayed my meeting with Hermione's parents long enough.'

  


  
Letting the obvious threat linger in the air, Lord Voldemort swirls away to the elevators. He hears Sloan ordering someone else to take Tonks to one of the holding cells and that is followed by the unmistakably thumping sounds of footsteps from someone running to catch up with him, while he enters the elevator. The Dark Lord leans casually against the wall, wondering if the man is going to make it on time right when the Unspeakable slips through the elevator's doors just as they close. Damn, he was hoping to be able to Crucio Sloan for his tardiness. Oh well, maybe later. He does long for some form of entertainment after all.

  


  
'Department of Mysteries,' Voldemort says, while smirking at the panting man, who is the only other occupant of the elevator beside him. 'Not quite in shape, Sloan?' he adds tauntingly, knowing full well the man had just battled numerous enemies and has been awake and physically active for quite some time now.

  


  
'Not as well as I would like,' Sloan responds, but his breaths are already returning to normal, which is a clear indication the Unspeakable's condition is quite admirable.

  


  
'Department of Mysteries,' a cool female voice states, and the grilles slide open.

  


  
'Lead the way, Sloan,' Voldemort orders with a polite hand gesture.

  


  
And they walk the corridor to the circular room and beyond that quietly. He is about to question Sloan on how much further when Lucius Malfoy steps around the corner. Oh delicious, perhaps humiliating Malfoy can provide him with some amusement. The blonde's delightful, cowardly reactions always make him such a rewarding and satisfying target.

  


  
'My Lord,' Malfoy says, kneeling immediately upon noticing him. 'I have brought the Grangers to the interrogation room. But they are still very confused as to where they are and are asking questions the entire time,' he adds tiresome and with an annoyed glare at Sloan.

  


  
Lord Voldemort looks at Sloan questioningly. 'You have not modified their memory, so it would return?'

  


  
'Not yet, my Lord,' Sloan replies, 'you had not given any specifications on the issue of their memory, so I deemed it could always be done if it is what his lordship wants.'

  


  
Lord Voldemort nods courteously. Now, this is an initiative he can appreciate. 'Good thinking, Liam,' he states, beckoning at Malfoy to follow them. 'So what name do the Grangers go by at the moment?'

  


  
Upon hearing the answer, Lord Voldemort snorts. 'Ronald and Ginny Evans? Sweet Salazar, Hermione, how utterly sentimental and corny,' he mocks. 'Please tell me she hasn't given them red hair and freckles to boot?'

  


  
A loud burst of laughter from Malfoy is the only reward to his pun, because Sloan remains, as always, ever so silent, collected and professional. The Dark Lord feels a rush of excitement as he is about to, finally, meet the Muggles, who gave birth to this extraordinary witch that he knows, and he quickens his steps. Lord Voldemort paces through the corridors on the lower level with the two others in his wake. They can barely keep up with him when one of them speaks up behind him.

  


  
'My Lord?' Sloan asks politely.

  


  
And as Voldemort turns around, he sees the Unspeakable open up the door behind him.

  


  
'I believe, I must inform you that there is, however, one small complication in the Granger case,' Sloan adds carefully.

  


  
He narrows his eyes at Sloan. This is not something he needs to hear. 'What do you mean with complication, Liam?' he asks quietly, while strolling into the office.

  


  
Surely, two Muggles couldn't possible pose any significant threat or issue for him. The thought alone is ridiculous. He swirls around the office and takes in the large, one-way-see-through window. On the other side of it, two people are sitting behind a table in deep conversation with a witch, who is seated opposite from them. He, immediately, sees the resemblance between Hermione and her parents. It's when he notices the complication Sloan was referring to. A tiny girl is sitting on the ground, playing with a doll.

  


  
'What's with the brat?'

  


  
'Ah, yes, well,' says Sloan, stopping beside him in front of the window, 'it appears the Evans always wanted to have a little girl, or so they informed me.'

  


  
He cocks his head towards the Unspeakable and smirks. This certainly is a pleasant surprise. 'Are you telling me Hermione has a little sister she knows nothing about?'

  


  
'Jaquenetta Kate Evans,' Sloan replies, 'born in the beautiful city of New York five years ago.'

  


  
'Glad to see they are sticking with the Shakespearian names,' Lord Voldemort says snorting.

  


  
Lucius Malfoy, who had followed them in too, is now watching him confused.

  


  
'Love's labour's lost,' Voldemort explains.

  


  
He is certain that will clear up the confusion, but it becomes painfully obvious from Malfoy's dumbfounded expression that it doesn't, and he sighs. Stupid pure-bloods and their complete lack in knowing any proper literature. The Tales of Beedle the Bard is all they are able to understand. A couple of ridiculous children's stories with an in-depth level of zero and that's as far as Wizarding literature goes, unless you want to count the Fifi LaFolle Enchanted Encounters trash as novels. Or even worse, the book from that broad Hookum, My life as a Muggle, like anyone cares to read nonsense. He shakes his head. It really is beyond him how something as meaningless as that could have ever become a bestseller. Perhaps he should add Shakespeare to the Hogwarts' curriculum? Not knowing Shakespeare is kind of an abomination in his book.

  


  
'William Shakespeare is a famous, British, medieval author of world-renowned plays,' Sloan explains to Malfoy, who mutters something degrading about Muggles back.

  


  
'So back to the kid,' Lord Voldemort interrupts abruptly, 'any signs of magic?'

  


  
Immediately, Lucius shakes his head in response to deny the possibility.

  


  
'She is five,' Sloan replies, raising his hands to indicate he is unsure. 'It's a bit early for her to show any signs of magic.'

  


  
'Oh, what are the odds?' Malfoy states to Sloan, annoyed.

  


  
'Pretty slim,' Sloan affirms, 'but it is still too early to tell for certain.'

  


  
'There is no way those two Muggles will have sprout out another…,' Lucius starts.

  


  
'Have you found Dora Figg yet, Lucius?' Lord Voldemort interrupts quietly, because, for no reason at all, he suddenly feels incredibly irritated by Malfoy.

  


  
'My Lord?' Lucius asks confused about the sudden change of subject.

  


  
'Dora Figg, remember, the Auror I asked you to find for me?'

  


  
'She must have left the country, Master, because every lead to her is a dead end.'

  


  
'Oh, so you found out her true identity?' Voldemort, tauntingly, asks.

  


  
It remains silent and he sees that Malfoy is clearly becoming uncomfortable, while Sloan is monitoring the exchange like it is of no concern to him. Useful man that Unspeakable, very useful. 'Well, Lucius?' Lord Voldemort menacingly asks. 'Am I ever going to get an answer from you?'

  


  
'N-no, my Lord, I don't know who Dora Figg is,' Malfoy says barely audible. 'The Department has examined what was left of the remains from those present at the Final Battle, but they couldn't identify anyone anymore due to the state of the …'

  


  
'I see,' Voldemort whispers threateningly. 'You are lucky, Lucius, very lucky indeed …'

  


  
Malfoy turns pale and is obviously not feeling very lucky at all right now.

  


  
'Because Liam, over here, has found her for you,' he adds and he takes a step towards the uncertain pure-blood. 'Had he not found her, you would join those remains right this instant, and rest assure, I would have made sure your state would be a perfect match to those other dead body parts. Now, why don't you get your useless blond arse out of my sight, right now!'

  


  
Lord Voldemort always enjoys seeing Lucius walk away as quickly as he can. It is quite a sight. Surely, the blonde could move with impressive speed _if_ he had enough incentive to do so. It is certainly something he can't resist having to take a look at every once in awhile to see if Malfoy is still as fast as before. A cold laugh sounds through the room. 'So, Liam,' he drawls joyous, 'why don't you bring the girl in to see me?'

  


  
'Do you want me to restore the memory of the Grangers also, my Lord?'

  


  
'Not yet, Liam, I want to talk to their daughter undisturbed first.'

  


  
'Yes, my Lord,' Sloan replies, bowing respectfully before he leaves the room.

  


  
Contemplatively, the Dark Lord turns back to the window and stares at the people, who are yet unaware of the predicament they are in. There is no sound to the scenery he is witnessing and he is not interested in hearing the, no doubt, uneventful conversation that is going on in there. But he also doesn't need any visual distractions when he talks with the girl. So he waves his hand at the window casually to turn it into a painting. This way the girl won't be looking at her parents and make some scene. He hates whining, little children.

  


  
He turns away from the painting, not caring what he created, walks to the desk and leans against it to have a clear view of the girl when she enters the office. So he doesn't witness the very un-dark-lord-ish picture he conjured. It contains a beautiful, white, sandy beach with almost alive waves of a clear blue sea, which seem to strike at the shore over and over again. And he definitely missed the sudden arrival of a curly-haired, dark-eyed Tibetan terrier in his neatly cast picture. It decides to sit calmly on the beach and it watches the waves, while waggling its frizzy tail.

  


  
The door opens and Sloan enters with the little Granger girl at his hand. And while Hermione resembles her mother, this one has more her father's looks. Her hair is black and tied in a ponytail and it doesn't strike him to be as unmanageable as Hermione's. However, two curious brown eyes do remind him of her elder sister as they take in everything and everyone in the room in an open-minded, innocent, investigatory survey as only unspoilt children can. The girl looks up to Liam Sloan.

  


  
'Now, Kate, this is Lord Voldemort. He wants to have a word with you, like I said,' says Sloan kindly.

  


  
The man is clearly good with children, because Kate Granger nods and turns back to the Dark Lord smiling. Somehow, Lord Voldemort has the distinct need to fold his arms over each other protectively and he looks down at the child haughtily. Gosh, he really doesn't like those little, itty, bitty tiddlers. They always whine and cry and…

  


  
'What happened to your face?' Jaquenetta Kate Granger asks bluntly.

  


  
He glares at the girl, but she is just eyeing him expectantly for his answer. Grown men cower on the ground when they are exposed to his gaze. However, this girl definitely is related to Hermione and does no such thing. It makes him smirk, while he tells the girl that he altered his face to look like this himself.

  


  
'Why?' Kate asks, interested.

  


  
'It's a secret,' he says loosely, turning away from the girl and seating himself behind Sloan's desk.

  


  
Kate bites her lip, disappointed, and she frowns thoughtfully. Suddenly, her expression brightens and she skips towards him. With a small smile, he looks down at the girl, who is now tugging on his sleeve. He bends toward her, and Kate glances over to Sloan before placing her hands around her mouth to tell him quietly that she is very good at keeping secrets.

  


  
'Really?' he whispers, amused, because it is obvious the girl is dying with curiosity.

  


  
Kate nods with certainty.

  


  
'You won't tell anyone?'

  


  
Kate shakes her head, determined.

  


  
The Dark Lord beckons the girl to come towards him with his index finger and she leans forward so he can whisper his secret in her ear. 'I have changed it so people will be afraid of me.'

  


  
'Why?' Kate immediately questions.

  


  
'Then they will do what I want,' Lord Voldemort responds.

  


  
Kate definitely needs to think about that one. It amuses him severely to see the furrowed brows on the five year old. Only his amusement is short lived, because Kate opens her mouth and proves one more time she has to be related to Hermione.

  


  
'I have to do what my mommy and daddy want, but I am not afraid of them. Why do people need to be afraid of you to do what you want?'

  


  
'It helps.'

  


  
'Why?'

  


  
'Because.'

  


  
'My mommy says because is not a reason,' Kate states haughtily and she folds her arms over each other. 'And I don't think your face is scary.'

  


  
'You don't?'

  


  
'No.'

  


  
'I see,' Voldemort responds calmly, 'well, other people are very afraid of my face.'

  


  
'I am not.'

  


  
'Obviously,' he says dryly, 'so Kate … now that I have told you a secret of mine, you need to tell me one of yours.'

  


  
'Do not,' Kate denies quickly, wide-eyed.

  


  
'Do too,' he retorts equally fast. 'It's only fair.'

  


  
Kate cocks her head, thinking about it. So the Dark Lord leans towards her again and he whispers in her ear that he can keep a secret very well too. Casually, he drops an arm over the chair's back and leans down in it, while Kate is eyeing him questionably, clearly appraising his credibility on the issue of keeping secrets. Finally, she moves toward him and stands on tiptoes to reach his ear.

  


  
'I have eaten a lollipop,' she whispers, slamming her hand in front of her mouth after she said it and looking over her shoulder towards Sloan to check if he didn't hear what she just confessed to.

  


  
'Oh?' Voldemort drawls innocently and he shrugs his shoulders. Slowly, he leans his face in his hand, while his elbow rests on his right leg. 'Why is that a secret?' he whispers to Kate in a conspiring way, glancing at Sloan just like her.

  


  
'I am not allowed to eat candy,' Kate replies uncomfortably.

  


  
'Then, how did you get it?'

  


  
'I saw it in the shop and – and then … it was in my pocket,' Kate whispers; her cheeks flushed with excitement.

  


  
'It was in your pocket?' Voldemort repeats slowly. This could be interesting.

  


  
Kate nods happily.

  


  
'How did it get in your pocket?' Voldemort asks, looking straight into the eyes of the five year old.

  


  
The girl shrugs and makes a face. 'Don't know,' she whispers, eyeing the ceiling and balancing on her feet.

  


  
She is just as bad a liar as Hermione. Satisfied with the answer Kate's mind has just supplied him with, he rises from the chair.

  


  
'Tell you what, Kate,' Voldemort smoothly states and he pats the girl on the head. 'There is nothing wrong with wanting some candy and taking what you want.'

  


  
'Shhh…,' Kate shushes, looking in Sloan's direction worriedly.

  


  
'Don't worry, it will be our little secret,' Voldemort whispers, winking at her.

  


  
Kate seems relieved with the answer as he strolls past her to talk to Sloan.

  


  
'My Lord?' Sloan enquires.

  


  
'I've heard you always do extra research on the cases you are sent upon, Sloan. Did you approach the Granger case in the same diligent manner?'

  


  
Lord Voldemort sees the slight hesitation before the man responds affirmatively.

  


  
'Let me see your file on Hermione's parents,' he orders.

  


  
Sloan frowns and turns around to his cabinet. He starts searching through his files extensively.

  


  
'I love dogs,' Kate's voice sounds through the room.

  


  
'That's nice,' Voldemort says absentmindedly; his back is still turned toward the girl. 'Do you need help to find the file, Liam?'

  


  
'No, my Lord, I've got it,' Sloan says and he turns around to hand the Dark Lord the requested file.

  


  
Lord Voldemort, immediately, starts going through the paperwork, looking for something that will clear up this mystery. So he never sees the astonished expression on the Unspeakable's face.

  


  
'I always wanted to have one,' Kate adds cheerfully.

  


  
'My… my Lord,' Sloan says flabbergasted, pointing with his hand in the direction of the girl.

  


  
'The girl is magical, Liam, there must be something in the file of those Muggles that will explain this – this unusual occurrence.'

  


  
'Yes, I can tell the girl is magical,' Liam says dryly. 'She just brought the dog out of the picture on the wall.'

  


  
'What dog?' Voldemort asks, irritated about being disturbed in his reading.

  


  
A loud bark sounds through the room and Lord Voldemort looks up from the file abruptly. He swirls around and blinks when he sees Kate patting a very alive and real dog in the office. It seems to be a cheerful, curly-haired dog with a pair of bright dark eyes that shine through its long hair. Somehow, the dog appears familiar to him and it makes him quite wary of the creature. The fact that the breed obviously is a Tibetan terrier isn't helping either. Nothing good ever came out of Tibet in his book.

  


  
'Where did you say the dog came from, Liam?'

  


  
'From the painting on the wall, Master.'

  


  
He looks at the painting he conjured. It's unlike anything else he ever created. A beach? With a blue sea and waves that strike… His mind halts right there and he groans when he remembers how Hermione drove him nuts with exactly that visual not so long ago. However, there was never a dog in one of the layers of her meditative Occlumency. So why did it appear in this painting? Why did he create this dog?

  


  
'Sit,' Kate orders and the dog plants its behind perfectly on the floor.

  


  
A "down" is quickly followed by a "roll over" and another "sit", which are all executed to perfection.

  


  
'Shake,' Kate requires, holding out her hand. And it hands the now giggling girl one of its frizzy-haired paws, while cocking its head.

  


  
'Oh, he is so cute,' Kate cheers and she hugs the dog extensively. 'Can I keep him?'

  


  
'Her,' Liam corrects, 'it's a female dog.'

  


  
'Thank you for stating the obvious, Liam,' Voldemort hisses exasperated.

  


  
Of course, the dog is a bitch. This is just unbelievable. This dog just can't be here. It just can't. There is no way he subconsciously created some kind of representation of Hermione in a picture. No way. She is not occupying his mind to that extend. She isn't.

  


  
'Her then,' Kate says, looking up from between all that dog hair her head was covered in, 'can I keep her?'

  


  
'No,' he snaps.

  


  
He whips out his wand and takes a step toward Kate. But he halts abruptly when the blasted dog steps between him and the girl and a deep growling noise sounds threateningly through the room. Two dark, perky eyes are staring at him directly and now he is positive the dog, somehow, is channelling Hermione's spirit, because he has seen that look a million times before.

  


  
'She doesn't seem to like you,' Kate says, patting the dog on the head.

  


  
The girl's voice breaks him out of the staring match he was in with a creature of only fourteen inches high. What the hell is he doing? Hermione isn't here. That is just some stupid dog, which happens to accidentally appear, because the girl wanted it to. She is Hermione's sister after all. No wonder the dog is a spitting image of Hermione. Kate must have been frightened and so she summoned a protective creature and it turns out to be her sister's animal shape; it's logically. So it has nothing, NOTHING to do with him. He was just imagining things. Damn, these Grangers will drive him nuts. Why did he feel the need to expand on his collection? One of them should have been more than enough. He pockets his wand and the dog turns silent.

  


  
'Fine, take the damn dog with you,' Voldemort states to Kate and he turns away from the cheering girl. 'Liam, bring them elsewhere, now.'

  


  
'Yes, my Lord. Kate, are you coming?'

  


  
Kate pulls herself away from the dog. 'Come on, Mineé,' she says, patting on her leg to get the dog to follow her, which it does to perfection. 'Bye,' she waves to Lord Voldemort happily.

  


  
It doesn't escape the Dark Lord's attention that the dog makes sure to continuously have its body between him and Kate at all times. And that the Tibetan terrier keeps on sending him glares. He sighs. Naturally; a breed, which is characterised by being loyal, stubborn, intelligent and loving. You don't need to be a brain surgeon to see who fits the bill to that. Not to mention the irritating link this creature provides between Hermione and those obnoxious monks. Well, he severed that link permanently when he killed what's his name. At least Kate has more sense instinctively to Hermione's true character than Weasley with his "react first, think later" terrier. Lord Voldemort still remembers the boy's Patronus vividly. Clearly, Weasley had no idea what his girlfriend was really like. He looks at the doorway to the party leaving. The high, prominently held, waving tail of the Tibetan terrier is the last thing he sees before the door closes and he shakes his head to clear it of the disturbing visual.

  


  
'Powerful, little five year old,' he mutters, because he knows very well the amount of magical effort that is needed to conjure something alive into such detail.

  


  
As he turns to resume his investigation of the file on Hermione's parents, he sees the other disturbing visual that is still very much present in the room. An irritated wave of his hand makes the painting disappear and it returns to its original shape as a window again. He flips through the pages of Sloan's extensive research without a second glance at the Muggles, who are responsible for his upcoming headache. He knows it will be there. Sloan is known for his background checks and he needs to see a genealogy of these people, because... Ah! There it is. He stares at the page before him on Hugo Granger. Quickly, his eyes scan the names, but there is nothing out of the ordinary in his list. He looks back up at the people in the other room. No, more precisely, he looks at the woman in the other room: Rose Granger. Her family tree will be on the next page, but a sting of apprehension befalls on him. It will be in her lineage. His problems, Hermione being his magical counterpart, it has to come from her. He can feel it. Uncertainty becomes his main emotion now. He is not sure if he wants to find out. Oh bloody hell, what is the matter with him!

  


  
Annoyed, he flips the page and his eyes are almost instantaneously drawn to the name _"Sally Farnon-Woodburn"_. A shout of fury reverberates through the room; a burst of magic leaves his hands uncontrollably; the papers of the file fly through the air; and as everything turns black before his eyes one more time, the Dark Lord's limp body plummets to the ground.

  


  
…

  


  
_Tom burst through the door of the girl's dormitory. It was a beautiful summer's day, so only one person was present. That brown-haired, thorn in his side, Woodburn was lying on her bed, reading intensely. If he was allowed to use magic during school holidays, he would curse the Muggle bitch from here to eternity. Alas, he didn't want to get the Ministry on his back with their stupid Trace and all, but otherwise… He snatched his Arithmancy workbook away._

  


  
_'Eh!' Sally shouted resentful. 'I was reading that.'_

  


  
_'Stop nicking my stuff, Woodburn,' he hissed, towering over her._

  


  
_'Oh, get over it and learn to share, Riddle. You were done with it ages ago and I am bored,' Sally replied, unfazed._

  


  
_She jumped out of her bed in a feeble attempt to snatch said book back, but with his tall frame, he only had to hold it up even slightly to keep it out of her reach and a mocking, trademark smirk became ever so visible on his handsome face. 'It's not like you have any use for this anyway, Woodburn,' he sneered._

  


  
_She glared at him and planted her hands on her hips. 'At least I can add,' she mocked._

  


  
_Tom narrowed his eyes at her. 'What is that supposed to mean?'_

  


  
_Sally shrugged her shoulders, triumphantly. 'Page thirty-four,' she merely said_.

  


  
_He was certain that she deliberately bumped into him with her shoulder as she walked past him to get something else out from underneath the loose, wooden floorboard that she used as a secret hiding place for her not so legally obtained items. Tom hesitantly glanced at his calculations on page thirty-four._

  


  
_'There is nothing wrong here,' he replied, somewhat relieved._

  


  
_'Second line of the third summation,' Sally stated lightly. 'The equation needs to be doubled not tripled when you use McFlee's theory. You should have used Horowitz' fourth Arithmancy Law there. McFlee doesn't apply when numbers are drawn from secondary sources. You're just lucky you made the error of tripling instead of doubling as you should have, because it caused the correct outcome to occur accidentally.'_

  


  
_Tom just stared at her._

  


  
_'Or maybe that is unlucky, because otherwise you might have noticed the error you made,' she muttered to herself, before addressing him again. 'Anyway, since you do the same thing all over in the rest of the summations, it just becomes a repetitive error, which won't cause you too many points when the teacher has to…'_

  


  
_'That is not possible. I would have noticed,' Tom muttered uncertain, interrupting her._

  


  
_'Fine, if you don't want to hear it, be my guest to keep making the same mistakes over and over again, because you do it all over your workbook,' Sally replied, uncaring._

  


  
_She pulled out a notebook and a magazine that she must have read numerous times, considering the pages' condition. 'On the Constitution of Atoms and Molecules by N. Bohr,' Tom read as she passed him again. She sat back down and started to scribble formulas in her notebook with a concentrated frown. Suddenly, Sally halted, flipped through the article, stared at the formula that was in there and started writing again. Reluctantly, Tom looked at his own work again. He wouldn't have normally. Not even some of his seniors in Hogwarts, he would have taken seriously if they had told him he made an error in his calculations. Hell, he was pretty sure they wouldn't dare to make such a comment to him anyway, but he knew Woodburn had a damn good analytic mind and … shit, she was right. He slammed the workbook shut in annoyance and walked over to see what Woodburn was writing down. He furrowed his brows when he saw some familiar Arithmancy formulas being entwined with Muggle physics._

  


  
_'What are you doing?' Tom asked._

  


  
_'Theorising, and checking whether this will work,' Sally replied, while Tom turned around so he wouldn't have to read the rest upside down._

  


  
_'You can't combine Arithmancy with physics. It's based on an entirely different mathematical structure,' Tom stated._

  


  
_'I know.'_

  


  
_'This is a crazy theory, Woodburn.'_

  


  
_Sally smiled. 'Good. Let's hope it will be crazy enough to be true as Niels Bohr stated.'_

  


  
_'Isn't that the same man who told Albert Einstein to stop telling God what to do?'_

  


  
_'So what. There is nothing like a little controversy between two brilliant minds. It's what keeps their theories sharp and to the point, and it is how progress is being made. Just because Einstein has more insight into the relativity of things doesn't make Bohr's formulas useless. It's like he said. A triviality is a statement whose opposite is false. However, a great truth is a statement whose opposite may well be another great truth.'_

  


  
_And she continued working on the formulas. Tom looked at it for a brief moment. Woodburn was definitely nuts to think she could combine something as worthy as a Wizarding theory with that Muggle crap. He tilted his head when he noticed Sally weaved Bohr's formula into Horowitz' equation fluently._

  


  
_'Wait a second,' he said and he paced out of the room. A couple of moments later, he came back with a stack of Arithmancy books and a notebook for himself. 'If you want to combine things, we may need Aloysius' model to get it right. I believe it has far more similarities with quantum mechanics than any other Arithmancy model.' And he tossed her Aloysius' book casually. 'Do you also happen to have anything from the general relativity of Einstein here?'_

  


  
_Sally pointed to the floorboard and she opened the Arithmancy book smiling, while Tom pulled out The Principle of Relativityand started reading himself. He had quite a great summer that year arguing with Woodburn about every minor detail concerning her Theory of Everything._

  


  
_…_

  


  
_The door to the large manor opened and a gasp escaped the girl behind Tom when she noticed the man who opened the door was a spitting image of him, only slightly older._

  


  
_'Who are you two?' Tom Riddle Senior asked, looking Tom up and down with surprise written all over his face._

  


  
_'Tom Riddle,' Tom replied, smirking._

  


  
_'Yes, I know who I am, but who are you?'_

  


  
_'Asked and answered, dad,' Tom said, the last word coming out in a sneer. 'Goodbye,' he added casually and whipped out his wand._

  


  
_The man staggered backwards upon noticing it and started to speak, but a dash of green hit him straight in the chest before any words left his lips. With a dull thud, the dead body of Tom Riddle hit the floor of the hall._

  


  
_'NO!' Sally shouted._

  


  
_She ran into the hallway and crashed down on her knees beside the body unaware of what was happening behind her. Tom clutched on to the Gaunt Ring in his hand as his soul was being ripped apart. It was incredibly painful and he barely was able to keep standing during his Horcrux' creation. But he was able to straighten out and resume an indifferent pose just when Woodburn turned to him in astonishment._

  


  
_'You killed him,' she whispered._

  


  
_Tom strolled into the hallway coldly and looked down at the corpse disgusted. 'So it would appear,' he replied evenly._

  


  
_'You didn't even let him say anything,' Sally replied, scrambling back to her feet. 'You just murdered him.'_

  


  
_'I am not interested in the words of filth,' Tom spat. 'Let's go, Woodburn.'_

  


  
_He turned around and walked away, expecting her to follow, but she didn't. Sally just stood there, shaking her head in disbelief. Tom reached the door again when he realised the blasted girl wasn't moving. Annoyed, he paced toward her, grabbed her arm and dragged her along._

  


  
_'I didn't invite you over, Woodburn, but now that you are here, let's get something clear. When I tell you to come, you move,' he clarified with barely restraint anger._

  


  
_And then everything turned surreal. 'Look out!' Sally shouted._

  


  
_She grabbed a hold of Tom and tried to push him away. 'Get off me, Woodburn!' Tom hissed._

  


  
_A pang, much like a firecracker, echoed through the hall and he felt a shock go through the body against him as he got his wish, because Sally crashed to the ground. 'Oi,' she said, surprised._

  


  
_Tom looked at the girl on the ground as a small stain of blood began to spread on her back. She was dead; she had died in his place. A rifle clattered loudly down the stairs and Tom turned to see an older woman standing at the top of it with her hands in front of her mouth. Calmly, his wand flashed a second time and the lady tumbled down lifeless too._

  


  
_'Mary! What is going on?'_

  


  
_The door on his left flew open and a man ran out. 'Avada Kedavra,' Tom cast again without hesitation._

  


  
_He wasn't going to leave any witnesses or any more next of kin. He made sure to check the manor thoroughly this time. When he came back to the hall, he observed the mess there. This wasn't going to do. It was too obvious a crime scene. It could lead back to him. A smirk graced his features as he remembered the completely set dining room table. That would do nicely. He levitated the bodies and took great pleasure in positioning his filthy relatives around the table. It was such a nice, appropriate family scene and they were perfectly quiet as he preferred Muggles like them to be. However, Sally's body would be a different problem. He walked back to the hallway and used a Vanishing Charm on the rifle. It wasn't until he was standing beside her body, contemplating on where to bloody well hide it, that he noticed the shallow movements of her chest._

  


  
_'Sal?' he asked, falling on his knees beside her and turning her over in one move. 'Sal, look at me,' he ordered._

  


  
_Her eyelashes fluttered slightly, but that was all. He ripped open her blouse and examined the wound on her back. Cursing himself for not checking on her sooner and just assuming she was dead, Tom removed the pellets out of her body magically._

  


  
_'You are going to be fine, Woodburn,' he said, determined, and he started to chant in a sing-song voice. It didn't take him long to heal the damage done to her longs and back. The riffle was only a stupid Muggle invention after all. It was no match for his powers. He lifted the girl in his arms and flashed his wand at the hall one last time to remove any evidence of their presence before he Apparated back to the orphanage in London and placed Sally in her bed quietly. He owed her and he didn't like that one single bit. He would have to talk to her in the morning. There was no doubt in his mind she would see things his way._

  


  
_…_

  


  
_Tom was reading his new N.E.W.T. Potions book on his bed in the boys' bedroom at the orphanage. His presence there was practically a guarantee for solitude. Even though it was raining cats and dogs outside, none of the other boys were foolish enough to go near him if they didn't have to. He had made it pretty clear what happened to those who disturbed him. So he had the huge chamber all to himself, nice and quiet._

  


  
_Bang!_

  


  
_The door flew open and slammed into the cabinet behind it, making it ricochet and fly back, before it rammed shut in the doorpost with another loud crack._

  


  
_'Don't you have the wrong dormitory, Woodburn?' he asked stoically, without looking up from his book. He didn't need to look, because there was only one person in the whole wide world who would dare to enter his domain like that._

  


  
_'Stupid, ignorant, foul, ridiculous rules of society,' Sally ranted and she kicked one of the beds a considerable distance across the room. 'That is not the proper attitude for a young lady, Miss Woodburn,' she mocked. 'Girls shouldn't be reading about physics. Their delicate heads will explode if they have to contain anything else besides the proper way to iron a sheet.'_

  


  
_Tom snorted._

  


  
_A pillow flew across the room and landed straight on top of his head. Now, he looked up. Sally stood in the centre of the room with her hands in her sides and her eyes were blazing fire. 'Don't you start as well, mister,' she hissed and she advanced upon him._

  


  
_'What did I do?' Tom asked, baffled._

  


  
_'What did you do? What did you do?' Sally repeated, furiously, and she pricked him with her finger in the chest. 'You are a boy.'_

  


  
_Tom quirked an eyebrow and an amused grin made its way to his face, briefly._

  


  
_'This isn't funny!' Sally hissed. 'You are one of them! Allowed to do whatever you want just because you have some stupid accessory, which, I might add, you all think with!'_

  


  
_A frustrated growl left her lips and she turned to kick the bed next to his, hard. It bounced into the next bunk with a violent crack. Upon noticing the damage the hard iron bed sustained, Tom felt it wise to put some distance between his accessory and the furious girl, so he backed out of his bed on the other side slowly but surely._

  


  
_'Like women can't think; HA!' Sally added, gesturing wildly. 'Watch the little girl use her brain, now she will be a hag for sure. Or her mind will fry from the strenuous exercise.'_

  


  
_'Perhaps it is too late to be worried about frying your mind already,' Tom said calmly, folding his arms over each other; content with the relative safety of having his bunk standing between the two of them._

  


  
_'What?' Sally responded like she was about to explode._

  


  
_'Come on, Woodburn. Don't pretend to be an idiot. If you want to read stuff, stuff others won't allow you to read, stop getting caught with it.'_

  


  
_'There shouldn't be anything wrong with a girl reading the relativity theory,' Sally said, also folding her arms decisively._

  


  
_Tom rolled his eyes. 'Oh please … wake up from whatever fantasy land you were dreaming about. Look, do you want to read or do you want to cause a scene? Because you can't have it both ways, Sal. Surely, you know that.'_

  


  
_'Oh what the hell do you know? Living in your secluded, little magical world, pretending there isn't an outside world to care about,' Sally responded, annoyed._

  


  
_'Eh, don't take it out on me that the vermin in your stupid Muggle-world miss the ability to understand that women can be a bit more than mere House-elves. Now, for the last time, Woodburn, do you want to read or do you want to start a women's rights movement in this horrific place?'_

  


  
_'Why?' she asked suspiciously._

  


  
_'I can make it look like your reading something entirely different to those people whom you want to hide your true lecture from.'_

  


  
_'Really?' Sally said, suddenly quite interested. 'That sounds incredibly neat.'_

  


  
_…_

  


  
_'I swear the next time, Mrs Cole stands at the top of that steep staircase, she is going to have an accidental slip,' Sally hissed vengeful, while she plummeted backward on his bed._

  


  
_Tom smirked condescendingly. 'You couldn't kill a mosquito, not even if it stung you.'_

  


  
_'Watch me.'_

  


  
_'When pigs fly,' Tom mocked._

  


  
_'Seeing that you could actually make a pig fly that is quite a stupid statement, Riddle,' Sally sneered. 'You've just proven my point.'_

  


  
_'You're not a killer. I can tell.'_

  


  
_'Oh… but Mrs Cole is making it such a tempting prospect to become one.'_

  


  
_'You don't want to kill Mrs Cole,' Tom said offhandedly._

  


  
_'Oh, but I do,' Sally responded lightly._

  


  
_'No, you really don't,' Tom said and his eyes shone almost feverish. 'Killing her would be doing her a favour. She hates being here even more than we do and we will leave after we become of age. She has to stay. That's why she drinks so much. Have you never heard her whine about her miserable life? No, I'll make certain she can stay alone in this godforsaken dreadful house of horrors until the day she dies. She isn't going to die one minute sooner. And I am going to…,' he halted when he saw Sally stare at him. 'What?' he snapped._

  


  
_Slowly, she shrugged her shoulders. 'You've given this quite some thought, haven't you?'_

  


  
_'So what if I have?'_

  


  
_'It's a bit disturbing, Tom.'_

  


  
_'Who are you calling disturbing, Miss I-Am-Dumping-Her-Of-The-Stairs?'_

  


  
_Sally pushed herself up to a seated position and stared him directly in his eyes. 'There is a difference between saying something in jest or anger and actually meaning them,' she said softly. 'How many times have you crossed the line again since last summer, Tom?'_

  


  
_'Mind your own business, Woodburn,' Tom hissed, having the unholy desire to draw his wand and curse the blasted, insipid girl. He had no idea what was stopping him. He found a way around the Trace ages ago, so that wasn't it. It had to be that stupid life debt he owed her. Though, he didn't think it was the same thing as owing a wizard. But still … he didn't like owing favours, especially not to Muggles. Why did she always have to be around? Why did she have to be there to bare witness? Why did she have to jump on his back right when he Apparated to Little Hangleton? Why couldn't she just…?_

  


  
_'That many, eh,' Sally responded in a whispered tone._

  


  
_A tense, eerie silence followed Sally's observation._

  


  
_…_

  


  
_'Get out of the way, Woodburn,' Tom hissed._

  


  
_He was holding his Hogwarts trunk and underneath his overcoat a shiny Head Boy batch was visible on his Slytherin robes. He was already running late for the Hogwarts Express as it was and he didn't need Woodburn blocking his path with her furious indignation._

  


  
_'I am not done yet, Riddle,' she hissed back. 'I thought the Riddles' death was presumed to be of unknown natural causes by everyone. Since the paper said the police let Frank Bryce go, because no murder could be proven.'_

  


  
_'So?' Tom sighed and dumped his trunk on the floor._

  


  
_'You never told me you framed your uncle!'_

  


  
_'I didn't think you would want to know,' Tom replied, shrugging. 'How did you find out about his imprisonment anyway, Woodburn? It's not like the Wizengamot and Azkaban are common knowledge to Muggles.'_

  


  
_'Smart people don't hold on to newspaper articles of their crimes,' Sally sneered._

  


  
_'Smart people don't go snooping through other people's personal belongings, especially not when they have seen first hand what the other person is capable of, Woodburn,' Tom replied menacingly._

  


  
_He took a step forward and slammed both his hands beside Sally's head into the door hard, making her jerk in shock at his sudden act of violence toward her. A struggle followed, but he was able to box her in thoroughly with his body against the door. He needed this to end right here and now. She was becoming a liability he couldn't afford to have. She always had been. His eyes flashed red as he drew his wand and pressed it into her throat. Sally closed her eyes for a moment before taking a deep breath and opening them again to stare straight at him._

  


  
_'I was wondering when this day would come,' she softly stated._

  


  
_'Your decision, Woodburn, not mine.'_

  


  
_Sally raised her eyebrows. 'It's always someone else's fault with you, isn't it? Well, I hope you are prepared to do your worst, because I promise you nothing else will be sufficient enough,' she calmly said._

  


  
_Smiling, he traced the lines of her face with the tip of his wand. 'I won't need to do my worst, Sal,' he whispered,_ _'because you will not remember this.' His mouth crashed on hers and as he devoured her with his tongue his wand flashed. 'Obliviate.'_

  


  
…

  


  
Something wet is making contact with his face continuously. He doesn't remember Sally's tongue to be so disgustingly long nor did she lap all over him. A nudge from something soft and hairy makes Lord Voldemort opens his eyes and he looks right at the dog that left the office with Kate and Sloan. It's watching him with concern in those charcoal eyes. He blinks and looks around him quite disorientated. What happened? He pushes himself to a seated position quickly. Did he pass out again? How? Why? The Amulet is done for; this shouldn't be happening anymore. He glares at the dog.

  


  
'How did you get in here?' he hisses, because he is the only one in the room and the door is closed.

  


  
The dog sits down and cocks its head. Of course, there is no answer. It's only a stupid animal after all. He needs to remember what happened himself. Sally Woodburn; he saw her name and passed out again. Sally is related to Hermione. This is too big to be a coincidence. The other times, he passed out, were all connected to Hermione too. And the dog, which is a definite representation of Hermione, has awoken him. Well, he is not feeling remorse about anything he did this time. Sally should have known better than to… A scream of pain leaves his mouth as he clutches onto his chest in agony and rolls over the floor again. It's unbearable; he is dying he can tell. Voices enter his head.

  


  
_'Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead –'_

  


  
_'This is my last warning –'_

  


  
_'Not Harry! Please … have mercy … have mercy … Not Harry! Not Harry! Please – I'll do anything –'_

  


  
_'Stand aside – stand aside, girl –'_

  


  
A hairy paw falls on his arm softly and in his pain he grabs a hold of the hairy creature beside him abruptly and buries himself in its fur. Flashes of green lightning illuminate the inside of his eyelids.

  


  
_'Avada Kedavra!'_

  


  
He hears himself cast it over and over again. It feels like he is being ripped apart on the inside. He can't breathe, his heart stops, and he tightens his bone crushing grip on the dog. It's somehow comforting. It feels imperative to hold on to the dog. It's like it is holding him here; like it is the only thing, the only one, who is preventing him from dying; like it is the only one who cares.

  


  
'Mineé!' Kate's voice calls out in the distance. 'Mineé?'

  


  
He feels the slight movement the dog is making upon hearing the little girl's voice and fear strikes his heart. The dog can't leave him. It can't. He will die if she does. And he wants to make sure she won't move. He wants to force her to stay with him, but he loses his grip and he can't hold on. He falls to the ground without feeling the comfort of the warm creature beside him; alone again.

  


  
'Mineé? Where are you girl?' Kate calls, worried.

  


  
He can't see or feel the dog anymore, but he hears the patter of four paws moving away.

  


  
'Don't … don't go,' he pleads in despair.

  


  
It turns completely quiet. Suddenly, a warm, soft head is placed on his chest and the dog lies down beside him. The world is swirling, but it doesn't matter, because he knows she is there. He can feel her. She isn't leaving. She is keeping him tied to this earth. He won't die. He won't. This pain will go away. She will make it go away. His arm finds the creature and he wraps it around her in a non-oppressive manner. And then, without warning, his heart starts to beat again and his longs fill themselves with air. The agonising pain is subsiding and soon his body feels like his own again. He is alive and well. He is alive. Merlin, he thought he was dying.

  


  
'Where is that damn dog?' Sloan grumbles from the other side of the door in the corridor.

  


  
Lord Voldemort hears the man pass, while the damn dog in question moves up and swirls away to the door. 'Hermione?'

  


  
The dog halts abruptly and turns its head towards him expectantly.

  


  
He wants to say something to it, but he begins to feel rather silly, resting on his elbows on the floor, while having a ridiculous urge to thank a dog! What is he doing? He is bloody Lord Voldemort! The most feared wizard of all time! And he is lying on the ground about to thank a dog? A dog? He knew those Grangers would be pushing him over the edge. He knew it. He is losing his mind for sure. Damn Muggles and their stubborn, pain in the arse, magical offspring.

  


  
'Glad you are feeling better,' Hermione says mockingly inside his head. 'I think I would have had a heart attack myself had you thanked me. I mean what would the world be coming to?'

  


  
Shocked, he looks at the Tibetan terrier. Did it just smirk at him?

  


  
The dog turns and jumps against the door handle. The door swings open, and the next thing he knows, the four legged creature has left before he can even begin to think to check whether everything happened as he just thought it did.

  


  
'Mineé! There you are, bad girl,' Kate Granger says admonishingly in the distance.

  


  
'Thank Rowena,' Sloan says relieved. 'Now, let's try not to lose your dog this time, Katie.'

  


  
Disappearing footsteps echo through the corridor before the door slams shut again. The Dark Lord makes it back to a standing position and he wipes his perspiring forehead. What on earth…? How long had she been inside his head already? What had she witnessed? And how did she accomplish it? He is certain that was Hermione's voice he heard; Hermione's mocking voice to be precise. She was making fun of him. It's beginning to infuriate him. He passed out … again! And he had those despicable emotions … again! And somehow, it always, ALWAYS involves her! He thought it was the Amulet, but now… He glares at the people through the window and makes a decision. In a swift motion, he swirls inside the other room.

  


  
'Get out!' he snarls at the witch, whipping out his wand.

  


  
The witch flies to her feet and races out the door in fear. Ronald and Ginny Evans are watching the exchange confused. All they do is look at him, while he casts the Memory Restoring Charm on them. Now, _he_ is going to have some fun.

  


  
He folds his arms over each other mockingly as he watches the Grangers becoming aware of everything they forgot and of who is standing before them. It pleases him he doesn't have to 'explain' their situation. He hates dealing with idiots. This will be…

  


  
'Where is my daughter?' Hugo Granger hisses.

  


  
'Which one?' Lord Voldemort asks tauntingly. 'The one you forgot about or the one you used to replace her with?'

  


  
Hugo takes a step in his direction, while he picks up the chair beside him in his left hand. If ever it was obvious someone was planning to use an item as a battering ram on his head, this would be it. 'Hugo,' Rose says fearfully and she grabs a hold of her husband's arm to pull him back.

  


  
However, Mr Granger pulls his arm away from his wife and takes another threatening step in the Dark Lord's direction, weighing the chair in his hand furiously. 'Where is Hermione and what have you done to her?'

  


  
Rose is holding her breath and Lord Voldemort sees her eyes darting between his wand and the chair her husband is holding. 'Hugo, don't,' she says pleading.

  


  
Clearly, the woman is not nearly as insane as her husband, who seems to have lost all reasonable thoughts in his anger. 'Are you deaf?' Hugo hisses at him.

  


  
'What do you think you can do with that chair?' Voldemort mocks.

  


  
'I figure it would look smashing on your head,' Hugo sneers.

  


  
'Yes, I am sure. But we both know it is never going to get there, so why don't you sit down in it instead?' Voldemort drawls in a condescending tone.

  


  
He sees the movement of Hermione's father's arm; the chair flies through the air; Rose screams; and … he lazily flicks his wand. The chair lands up against the wall and Hugo is thrown in it violently.

  


  
'I said sit,' Voldemort says coldly. 'Now why don't you be a good little Muggle and obey your superiors before you get hurt. I would hate to have to tell Hermione her father isn't feeling well.'

  


  
Rose, who had run to her husband to see if he was alright, looks up at him when he mentions Hermione's name. 'You have her?' she asks in a whispered tone, because the thought is clearly horrifying to her.

  


  
'Oh yesss,' he replies smirking and he takes a step towards Rose.

  


  
Hugo is making a move to get out of the chair and protect his wife, so he flashes his wand again and binds the man to the chair. 'Sloan!' Voldemort shouts, while advancing on Rose Granger who is backing up at the same pace.

  


  
The door opens almost immediately. 'Yes, my Lord?'

  


  
'Why don't you take Mr Granger to see his little girl, Kate,' Voldemort drawls, while keeping his crimson eyes on Rose. 'He is of no interest to me and we wouldn't want any accidents to happen to him, now would we Rose?'

  


  
Hermione's mother has reached the wall and bounces into it at the same time as he presses his wand in her throat. Her eyes widen in fear and her body freezes on the spot.

  


  
'Leave my wife…'

  


  
A Silencing Charm takes care of Hugo Granger's interruptions. 'Get that man away from me, Sloan,' Voldemort orders calmly, touching Rose's forehead with his wand teasingly.

  


  
He waits quietly until the door closes behind the Unspeakable again and he smirks at Rose. 'Alone at last,' he whispers. 'Remember me, dearest? We have met before after all.'

  


  
To his utter surprise he sees his statement is not met with the bafflement he was expecting to appear on her face. She knows what he is talking about! How is that possible? She was a little girl at the time, holding on to a teddy bear for crying out loud. How could she connect him in this appearance to the stranger who stood in the hall back then? He will get to the bottom of this now.

  


  
'Legilimency,' he casts.

  


  
_A teddy bear was placed on the chair next to her as Rose picked up the cup of hot chocolate milk her mother had supplied her with. 'Mommy, who is that man?'_

  


  
_'Oh, just someone mommy used to know,' Sally replied, while her eyes darted to the door somewhat apprehensively._

  


  
_'What's his name?'_

  


  
_'Tom, Tom Riddle,' Sally answered, distracted._

  


  
_'I don't think I like him,' Rose stated._

  


  
_Abruptly, Sally looked back at her daughter with surprise in her eyes._

  


  
_'He seems mean,' Rose elaborated, taking another sip from her drink._

  


  
_Sally smiled softly and she rubbed her hand through her daughter's hair. 'I doubt he came all this way to hurt us, dear. Why don't you drink your coco and go back to bed. Leave everything up to mommy and it will be alright. Okay?'_

  


  
_'Okay,' Rose said reluctantly._

  


  
Other useless childhood memories fly by, so the Dark Lord returns back to that one. He needs the memories connected to that one. The mind is a fickle thing and Legilimency is an art to get right on its own, even if your victim can't occlude her mind. He re-establishes contact with the memory and pushes on. A gasp escapes the woman before him and he presses her up against the wall. He feels her body tremble against him as he dives deeper into her mind and follows the pathways to the interconnecting memories.

  


  
_'What do you mean with magical?' Rose asked her mother, disturbed._

  


  
_'Hermione is a witch,' Sally said calmly._

  


  
_'Don't be ridiculous,' Rose replied, aggravated. 'Really mom, of all the things you have made up…'_

  


  
_'Now, no need to fret, dear,' Sally interrupted. 'It is quite common and I think a part of you already knows, Rose. You must have seen things happening around Hermione that you couldn't explain. Besides, you were here that day when Chemonzukalikula and Lucas visited my house. So you are aware magic exist. You have seen it in action first hand.'_

  


  
_'I don't want Hermione to be involved in violent things like that,' Rose hissed._

  


  
_'I sincerely doubt you will be able to stop her. And I can tell you it is not a good idea to shun her or keep the truth from her. You need to be supportive or she will resent you for it. I have seen how devastating …'_

  


  
_'Mom,' Rose interrupted. 'I love my daughter. Don't tell me I won't just because she is different. You know better. I just don't like what I have seen of magic so far and I doubt you can give me any wonderful examples. I need to speak to someone who can.'_

  


  
_Sally frowned. 'I don't know anyone I would trust with this information. However, there is a school for magical children. It's called Hogwarts. And there is a Ministry of Magic.'_

  


  
_'A Ministry?'_

  


  
_'Yes, it is in London somewhere. Don't ask. I don't know where it is. The school…,' Sally halted. 'I know there is a train that takes children to it at the beginning of the school year. It leaves from King's Cross station, but I can't_ _give you a precise location of the school or the platform the train leaves from either.'_

  


  
_'I'll find it,' Rose replied, determined._

  


  
_…_

  


  
_Rose was standing at King's Cross Station. She was watching the crowds vigorously for signs of magic when a group of unusually dressed, red-haired people walked by._

  


  
_'Charlie, Bill, stop messing around. We are late already.'_

  


  
_'Mom, I want to go to Hogwarts too,' a little boy with red hair whined._

  


  
_'Not now, Ronald, when you are old enough. Fred! Leave your brother's trunk alone,' Molly Weasley said admonishingly._

  


  
_Hogwarts! Rose looked at the family more thoroughly. The boy, who mentioned the name, seemed about the same age as her Hermione and was obviously part of a large family. Carefully, Rose observed them as they moved along. They were easy to follow, because they stood out tremendously in the crowd and were sort of very present, even if they were blissfully unaware about all the eyes that drew to their location. But Rose got a good, warm feeling about them as she watched their interactions. They seemed like a loving family. Just the kind of people she would feel comfortable into talking._

  


  
_It was when the entire family vanished into thin air. Where had they gone? Rose stared around the platforms nine and ten confused. They were just here. Just when she was about to give up and look for other wizards or witches the family returned. Quickly, Rose moved toward the woman. She had a kind face and was holding her little daughter in her arms._

  


  
_'Uhmm… I am sorry to disturb you,' Rose said nervously. 'But I think my daughter may be like you and I need to talk to someone, who can tell me a bit more about that.'_

  


  
_Molly eyed her up and down briefly. 'About what?' Molly asked frowning._

  


  
_'You are a witch, aren't you?' Rose asked softly._

  


  
_Molly just stared at her._

  


  
_'Mom, George did something to my coat.'_

  


  
_'Not now, Percy.'_

  


  
_'My daughter is too and I …,' Rose halted. She didn't know what to say next._

  


  
_'Not here,' Molly responded friendly and she placed a hand on her shoulder to reassure Rose before she turned around. 'Arthur!'_

  


  
_'Yes, dear.'_

  


  
_'Here, take Ginny. Can you bring the children home on your own? I need to talk with this lady over here.'_

  


  
_'Sure. Oh, a Muggle, can I…?'_

  


  
_'No Arthur,' Molly interrupted sternly. She gave him a kiss before turning back to Rose. 'I know someplace where we can sit down and talk undisturbed. I am Molly Weasley, by the way.'_

  


  
_'Rose, Rose Granger._ '

  


  
…

  


  
Lord Voldemort goes effortlessly through all the contacts Rose Granger had with Molly Weasley after that day. But it is all useless information. He needs to get back to the things that involve Sally. Somehow, the answers must be there. He refocuses his mind and concentrates on that one thing Sally said to Rose that interested him severely.

  


  
Rose's body moves feebly against him. 'Stop, please stop,' she pleads exhausted.

  


  
'Shhh…,' he shushes; he strokes her hair and perspiring face gently. 'Just breathe, dear, you'll be fine. Don't try to fight it, just let it happen. Follow my lead and it will be over soon.'

  


  
He finds what he is looking for and plunges into that memory.

  


  
_The doorbell rang._

  


  
_'I got it!' Rose shouted through the Farnon residence and opened the door._

  


  
_Before her stood a strange couple. A small man in a monk's outfit, who couldn't be more than half her length, stood beside a bearded fellow with glasses in the same outfit. 'Good day,' the man she deemed to be a monk said, 'I am Chemonzukalikula and this is Mr Lucas. We are looking for Sally. We are old … friends.'_

  


  
_'Oh,' Rose replied, looking the strange men up and down suspiciously. She had never heard her mother mention anything about either of them and she was sure she would remember something this peculiar. Perhaps they were a part of some weird religious group, who went door to door to collect money._

  


  
_'You must be her daughter Rose,' Chemonzukalikula stated kindly and he held out his hand._

  


  
_'Yes,' Rose said hesitating, while she shook the tiny man's hand. 'I don't recall …'_

  


  
_'What the hell makes you think you are welcome here, Chemo?'_

  


  
_Rose turned around and faced her mother, who was walking down the stairs in a hurry. The look on her face wasn't what Rose would call pleasant. Hell, not even close. She had seen her mother angry on a couple of occasions and it was never something Rose cared to see again. But right now, Sally's face predicted a lot more than mere anger and Rose was wishing she was elsewhere. That she hadn't made the mistake to come over today. But she had just wanted to share the news that she was finally pregnant. Something she hadn't been able to tell yet, due to all sorts of stupid interruptions. Sally made it beside her and planted her hands on her hips._

  


  
_'Well?' she snarled at the monks._

  


  
_Rose's eyes darted confused between the monks and her normally very kind and sociable mother._

  


  
_'We have important things to discuss, Mrs Farnon,' the tiny monk her mother called Chemo said._

  


  
_'Yeah, I heard your important things before,' Sally sneered. 'I don't care to listen to them again.'_

  


  
_'Mrs Farnon,' the other bloke called Lucas started._

  


  
_'I don't like being rude,' Sally said, interrupting him, 'but I don't know you and I don't want to get to know you, since you are obviously involved with him. Now, I think I said it before, but I'll say it again if need be. I don't care about your stupid Force and what you think it has told you I need to do. If you have a problem with a certain wizard, deal with it yourself.'_

  


  
_Sally grabbed the rim of the door and was about to render it shut._

  


  
_'The Force has long ago shifted its attention away from you,' Chemonzukalikula said._

  


  
_'Hallelujah!' Sally mocked. 'Well, thank you for sharing that lovely bit of useless information with me. Goodbye.'_

  


  
_Chemonzukalikula raised his hand at the door and it flew from Sally's hand. 'You may not care about the Force, but it cares deeply about you, Sally.'_

  


  
_A deep, exasperated groan was all the response he got. And in the distance dark clouds began to form in the sky._

  


  
_'Chemonzukalikula,' Lucas said warningly._

  


  
_'Yeah, I felt the shift too,' Chemonzukalikula replied to him before addressing Sally again. 'We really need to talk.'_

  


  
_'About what?' Sally sneered. 'Your lack of action? Your little observer's role? Why don't you just leave and try to make a dent in a pack of butter if you can.'_

  


  
_'Chemonzukalikula,' Lucas repeated and he stared at the sky behind him concerned._

  


  
_'I noticed, I noticed,' Chemonzukalikula replied, holding up his hand to his apprehensive companion, 'Sally, we need to talk about another new person the Light …'_

  


  
_'Oh, just give me a break,' Sally interrupted, annoyed beyond belief. 'I feel for the poor individual that gets stuck with the likes of you, but stop trying to sell your hullabaloo to me. I've heard it just one time too many and I am sick of the passivity of it. It's stupid, and ridiculous, and utterly irresponsible.'_

  


  
_'I'm sorry you feel this way, my dear, however your daughter…'_

  


  
_'What?' Sally snapped, and she looked from Rose to Chemonzukalikula with concern. 'Hold it right there. You do not get to go near my family. I told you this a thousand times…'_

  


  
_'The wards, Chemonzukalikula, the wards!' Mr Lucas said anxiously._

  


  
_Chemonzukalikula held up his hands. 'Relax Sally. You need to calm down.'_

  


  
_Sally looked at the two monks before her puzzled. 'The wards? What wards, and why do I need to calm down?' she asked, frowning contemplatively. 'Why is that necessary, Chemo?' she asked, but it sounded to Rose like her mother was already on to something, because her face suddenly got a very delighted expression._

  


  
_'The Dark Side is strong here.'_

  


  
_'Really?' Sally said, smirking. 'Rose step back.'_

  


  
_'Mom?'_

  


  
_'Now, dear,' Sally said calmly._

  


  
_Chemonzukalikula looked at Sally sorrowful. 'This will not get you the result you are hoping for, Sally.'_

  


  
_'Are you still here?' Sally asked in a mocking tone of voice._

  


  
_'Sally, you do not want to do this,' Chemonzukalikula said. 'This is not your way.'_

  


  
_Sally clicked her tongue and shook her head. 'Wrong again,' she said. 'You,' she started, taking a step towards Chemonzukalikula threateningly, 'are.'_

  


  
_'Sally, don't go there.'_

  


  
_'An.'_

  


  
_'Sally, you are making a huge mistake if…'_

  


  
_'Enemy of this household,' Sally ended quickly._

  


  
_'Oh fuck,' Lucas muttered underneath his breath._

  


  
_And all hell broke lose. Chemonzukalikula moved his arms around and a ball of light flew around both men just as the full force of Lord Voldemort's wards crashed down upon them. Rose saw how her mother stood there, smiling with her arms folded over each other, while something cold and dark swirled around the air pervasively. She shivered briefly. She had no idea what was going on, but it felt like evil was running through the air. Sally stood calmly a few feet away, making a waving motion with her hand to the two men._

  


  
_'Feel free NOT to return,' she mocked. 'You are not welcome here.'_

  


  
_Chemonzukalikula just looked at her sadly. 'You just condemned a lot of people, Sally.'_

  


  
_And then, a burst of dark lightning impacted into the place the monks occupied and they were gone. Rose gasped. A swirl of darkness was all that remained in the hall, but the sun broke through it and, as its warmth filled the air, it was like nothing happened. 'Thank you, Tom,' Sally said to nobody in particular, and she casually threw the door shut and walked to her daughter._

  


  
_'Coffee or tea?' Sally asked Rose smiling._

  


  
_'Mom? What was that?'_

  


  
_Sally grinned. 'Magic, dear.'_

  


  
_And she coaxed a protesting Rose back into the living room. 'Sit down, sweetie. I'm sure the little bugger is fine. He knows very good how to stay out of the line of fire himself.'_

  


  
_Rose mumbled something incomprehensible._

  


  
_'I'll get you some coffee to calm down,' Sally decided._

  


  
_'No, tea,' Rose quickly said, remembering why she came here._

  


  
_'Tea, it is,' Sally said cheerfully and she walked away to get some_.

  


  
Lord Voldemort leaves Rose's mind utterly satisfied and happy. That was certainly enlightening. So Yoda had been playing his little games for a lot longer than he anticipated. Oh well, it doesn't matter. He has won. He has beaten the tea leave sucker. Sally turned to him to kick the nature dweller out of her house and she knew who she turned to. A laugh leaves his lips. He lets go of Hermione's mother and calls out to Sloan.

  


  
Thud.

  


  
He looks at the floor in irritation. Merlin, the woman passes out on him. Oh well, he knows what it feels like. She'll live. It's not like he cares.

  


  
'My Lord?' Sloan enquires politely.

  


  
'Bring Hermione's father and Kate Granger to my quarters at Hogwarts, Sloan,' Voldemort orders.

  


  
He waves his wand at Rose Granger and levitates her.

  


  
'What about…' Sloan starts.

  


  
Crack.

  


  
'…the dog?' Sloan finishes to the empty room, since the Dark Lord Apparated away with Hermione's mother already.

  


  
Crack.

  


  
With a _swoosh_ of his black cloak, Lord Voldemort Apparates into one of his 'guest bedrooms'. It's the one he held Hermione prisoner in not so long ago and he places her mother on the same bed. He doesn't place the same amount of securities on her door, because, really, where would a Muggle go in magical environment such as this? The only ward he needs is one that will prevent Hermione from getting in here prematurely, which means before her birthday. Yes, this is the perfect gift. And he already has established who will be the patsy: Hugo Granger. Well, he killed his father and created a beautiful Horcrux that day. There is no need for Hermione not to follow in his footsteps.

  


  
A smirk graces his features as he enters the study, but she isn't there. Oh well, maybe she went to bed already. He strolls to the bedroom casually. He is quite in the mood for some physical activity anyway. And it will be an interesting experience, considering she has a part of him inside of her now. However, to his annoyance the blasted witch isn't there either. He sighs. She didn't. Surely, she knows by now she can't escape him. What is that Mudblood thinking? Tiresome, he sits down on the bed as he uses his magic to locate her. He stretches it to go around the globe twice, but she isn't anywhere to be found. He flings to his feet. This – this is impossible. He tries again, unsuccessfully. NO! She hasn't escaped him, not now, not ever. No one evades him, no one, especially not his Horcrux! How can this be? He could always find Nagini wherever she was and that was even without the magical connection. He paces the bedroom to and fro, trying to come up with a solution.

  


  
Fine. He has her parents. All he needs to do is send her a little message and she will return to him, unless she likes to watch their mingled bodies on the front page of the Daily Prophet. He places his wand at his temple and cast the charm. A silvery mist leaves his temple and he is waiting for it to turn into the familiar corporeal shape of a snake, but to his utter despair a four legged creature with a waving, prominent tail emerges. A very familiar looking dog dances around the room cheerfully. It's that blasted Tibetan terrier again. It's Hermione. His Patronus is Hermione. This is a disaster. He grabs a hold of his head and shakes it hardly.

  


  
'No, no, no, no,' he mutters repeatedly.

  


  
He crashes down on the bed, feeling confused as hell. He never needed anyone, never. Even his Patronus has always been himself. And now, this little witch got inside his head and turned him bonkers. Yes, that is what she did. Two paws are placed against his leg and he looks at his very corporeal Patronus who is standing in a familiar pose. He groans and the stupid dog jumps on his lap. Absentmindedly, he pats the silvery dog's head as he contemplates on things. An extreme emotional upheaval that is what causes a Patronus to alter form and it is a representation of a happy memory. He can identify the memory in question that could be responsible, but still … Hermione? He is supposed to get under her skin not the other way around. He has to undo this. He can't have her as a Patronus. He needs to be self-reliant again. And why is he patting the blasted dog?

  


  
'I do not need you,' he sneers at the dog.

  


  
It looks at him, sticks its nose in the air, huffs, turns its head away and bends its rear legs.

  


  
'EH!' Lord Voldemort shouts in disgust and he pushes the peeing dog of him.

  


  
With a flick of his wrist, the Patronus is gone. And he stares at his perfectly fine robes in irritation. That bloody Tibetan terrier tried to mark him, HIM! He growls. Nothing good ever came out of Ti… He hits his head for not thinking of it sooner. Tibet, of course, that is where she is. The Knights must be blocking his reception of her location. Well, they are about to get some company. He has to condolence them with their dreadful loss, naturally. And he has some questions that need answering anyway. He spins on the spot and Apparates to Tibet immediately.

  


  
\---

  


  
**A/N:** Okay, just for all you curious people out there, here you can find a picture of a Tibetan terrier. http : / www. greatdogsite . com / category _ detail . php?id=203 (just delete the spaces)  
  
---


	29. Part One

---  
  
**A/N:** I've decided to split Hermione's chapter up in two because the chapter is becoming so huge. 

  


  
\---

  


  
**The Bittersweet Taste of Victory**

  


  
_Who needs the sun, when the rain's so full of life  
  
Who needs the sky, when the ground's open wide  
  
It's here in your arms I want to be buried  
  
You are my sanctuary_

  


  
_Who needs a smile, when a tear's so full of love_  
  
_Who needs a home, with the stars up above_  
  
_It's here in your heart I want to be carried_  
  
_You are my sanctuary_

  


  
_Who needs the light, with the darkness in your eyes_  
  
_Who needs to sleep, with the stars in the sky_  
  
_It's here in your soul I want to be married_  
  
_You are my sanctuary_

  


  
_And the earth was void and empty_  
  
_And darkness was upon the face of the earth_  
  
_Is all of this pain so necessary_  
  
_You are my sanctuary_

  


  
Madonna; sanctuary

  


  
**Chapter twenty-nine: part one**

  


  
Something strange has happened. I am walking the path toward the main building of the monastery. I am seeing the white building, the monk I am following, the familiar mountains and their white peaks in the distance, the trees and the green grass beside the grit path. However, I am also looking at a beautiful clear blue sea, while a white sandy beach stretches on all around me. Did I just Splinch myself?

  


  
My hand moves to scratch my head, but I halt halfway through when I notice the furry paw instead of my hand. My head turns to examine my incredibly hairy body. Okay, why do I suddenly have a tail? I waggle it and shake my head in disbelief. I have a tail! It's when I look up from my distraught examination of myself that I see a rather bland office from the beach I am sitting on. However, in that office stands Lord Voldemort and he is the very opposite of bland. I just stare at him as my heart skips a beat and butterflies are violating my stomach. At least now I know how come I am partly here. He had something to do with it. Although I don't think he is aware of what happened and that I am right here yet. He is standing against the desk with his eyes focused on the door, obviously waiting for something or someone.

  


  
I look around my environment again. It's not difficult to deduce I am in some kind of painting on a wall. It's very familiar, this scenery I am in. I have used it a thousand times to meditate and it always brought me a lot of peace and calmness. But why would Voldemort conjure a painting like it? There are many psychological theories behind subconscious conjuring. But they all agree on one basic factor: you conjure what you are in dire need of. I bite my lip. A part of me desperately wants those theories to be right, but another part of me warns me not to delude myself. I know he is incapable of love. He was born under Amortentia use. It is not his fault, but…

  


  
I scratch myself behind the ear with my rear paw and shake my fur loose to relief some of the tension I am suddenly feeling. I press my eyes closed. Everything is gone when I open them again, and I am walking the path to the monastery. My hand is in front of my face and I examine it thoroughly. Human skin: check. No fur: check. Clothes: check. No tail: check. Yeah, I am still me. I scratch my head. What was that? I am definitely losing it. For a second I thought I was a dog; a very, hairy dog. I shake my head, but somewhere in the back of my mind something nags at me about a certain someone's Patronus. It was a lot like how I looked a few seconds ago. We do need to have a conversation about this new dog obsession of him. Would it be a representation of me, like the snake is of him? Is that why I just turn into that animal on his painting? I couldn't have, could I? It would mean that… No way.

  


  
But he was there too. I saw Lord Voldemort in an office, while I was sitting as a dog on a beach. This is just too weird. The monk opens the central door to what used to be Yoda's chambers and I focus my attention back on the issue at hand. After all, I need some bloody answers. I nod courteously to the Knight, who escorted me, and walk inside. A tall man with long blond hair sits in a rather comfy armchair and he looks up from his book as I enter.

  


  
'Oh, you've got to be kidding me,' Lord Voldemort grumbles inside of me. 'Someone kill me now.'

  


  
I arch an eyebrow in amusement. 'Well, that can always be arranged,' I mentally mutter back.

  


  
But Voldemort doesn't reply, because Jareth speaks up. 'Hermione, it's good to see you. Yoda said you would be coming.'

  


  
'Well, it is always nice to be expected.' I can't help but sneer. 'So, you are the new Lead Knight of this joint?'

  


  
The dulcet tones of Liam Sloan sound through in the back of my mind, and distracted, I look around the Knight's environment condescendingly. Well, at least, he decided to get some furniture and I sit down in the leather couch, crossing my leg over the other and leaning with my left arm on the back of the couch. This is going to be fun. I watch Jareth expectantly for his response. But he remains silently, while his eyes are darting up and down my body. I arch an eyebrow, because really, aren't these monks supposed to be…

  


  
'Do you think you will fool me, Tom?'

  


  
Clapping my hands in faux amazement, I mock: 'How very perceptive of you to be able to recognise someone you … _'taught'_ for a decade. Do you want a cookie as a reward now?' And a loud, cold laugh leaves my lips. 'Yes, Hamlet, it duly pains me to disappoint you, but Hermione seems to be unavailable at the moment.'

  


  
'I am sure her attention is needed elsewhere,' Jareth responds calmly. 'I'll just wait till she gets back.'

  


  
'It's not up to her. I've taken over this body for now, and I'll think I'll be staying in charge of it, until the little witch learns to listen.'

  


  
Jareth merely looks at me with a pitying glance and it is duly aggravating. Perhaps I'll shall wait, until my other self arrives here as well, and see how much damage two of us can do to this despicable, happy place. Yes, that sounds like a lot of fun.

  


  
I hear the conversation in Tibet in my mind, while I watch the waves of the sea, but somehow it feels unimportant. I am not needed there. Jareth can handle himself. I swirl around and stare back into the same room or office as I looked into before. Lord Voldemort is still standing against the desk, but he has folded his arms over each other haughtily, while Sloan is looking at a little girl who is standing beside him.

  


  
'Now, Kate, this is Lord Voldemort. He wants to have a word with you, like I said.'

  


  
The Dark Lord is not particularly fond of children, so what the hell is going on here? And, oh Lordy, I am a dog again.

  


  
'What happened to your face?' the girl asks.

  


  
I snort amused. Little children, they tend to say the most blunt things. Still, something fishy is going on here. I better remain and check it out. In the back of my mind I hear Jareth responding, and I hear myself speak. But I force myself to focus on what is happening here, and at last, I am able to shut down the interference from Tibet to an acceptable form of background noise. It's like reading in a room when someone else is watching the tele. You hear it, but you just zone out of it. Only picking up those sounds your mind is interested in and filing it for later use. And so I get more suspicious by the minute as I watch Lord Voldemort pulling out all the stops with a little girl. Manipulative bastard.

  


  
'Tell you what, Kate,' Voldemort smoothly states and he pats the girl on the head. 'There is nothing wrong with wanting some candy and taking what you want.'

  


  
Oh yeah, sure … tell the kid that. The world according to evil, self-absorbed, Dark Lords. Such a great example to follow. I shake my head as my eyes follow Lord Voldemort, who moves to Liam Sloan, and Kate, who walks toward me. I smile at the little girl, who waves at me. So I decide to wave back with my hairy paw and she giggles softly. Cute girl. But my blood freezes up when I hear Lord Voldemort's next words to Sloan and I look at the girl with different eyes. Oh no, it can't be. Oh fucking hell. I swear if he so much as hurts…

  


  
'I love dogs,' Kate says smiling to me.

  


  
Circe, I have to find a way to get there. I can't let him… Kate plants a hand against the painting and I place my paw against her hand. Oh Merlin, I always wanted a little sister; being an only child can be so lonesome at times. Ron never understood how Harry and I liked to be a part of his big family. He felt lost for attention at times, but you can get so smothered when you receive all of it. I truly wish I was there.

  


  
'I always wanted to have one,' Kate says simultaneously with my wish.

  


  
A spur of magic swirls between my paw and Kate's hand, and next thing I know I am standing in the office in front of her on all fours. Well, it's an improvement to being a flattened dog in a painting. I push my wet nose against her hand caringly and she starts patting me, while I focus my attention on the stunned Unspeakable and the rather oblivious to my existence Dark Lord. I push my hairy dog head against the little hand that is patting me excitedly. Don't you worry, sis, I'll protect you. I have some pretty cool teeth at the moment, which, I am sure, can do a world of damage to certain parts of the human anatomy.

  


  
A mental snicker goes through me when I hear the Dark Lord speak irritated: 'What dog?'

  


  
That would be me. So, I let out a bark in amusement. It has the utmost wonderful reaction. His head swivels up abruptly, he swirls around, and his eyes blink in clear astonishment. I can barely contain my laughter, especially when I feel his somewhat suspicious and guarded emotions inside of me, despite his outward seemingly blank expression. The man is such a great actor. He should get a BAFTA award. He starts to question Sloan, and then, I hear his mind work. He too recognises the picture he has created, and he is trying hard to convince himself he doesn't know what the dog is representing, namely me. He is good in fooling himself, pretty darn good.

  


  
Kate, suddenly, stands in front of me. 'Sit,' she says.

  


  
Oh, what the hell, she is just a little girl. I'll make her happy. She is my sister after all. I put on quite an extensive show, and it is delightful to see her proud and pleased expression before she hugs me extensively. It's when another debate about me arises and Voldemort's thoughts shock me thoroughly. He, actually, acknowledges I am the dog and that he subconsciously created some representation of me, because he thinks of me. Oh dear Godric, that shouldn't turn me on as much as it does. It's when he snaps at Kate and whips out his wand that I remember who I am dealing with. No fucking way are you hurting my sister! And I step between him and Kate and growl, while glaring at him.

  


  
'Leave her alone,' I mentally growl, keeping my eyes locked firmly in his.

  


  
I have no idea if I can use magic in this dog form, but I will sure try if need be. Kate's voice breaks the tense eye contact between us, and I hear Voldemort's thoughts again. It must be a side-effect from the Horcrux he turned me into, because I don't recall this has ever happened before. He seems to be back in his little denial mode. Sure, I am not Hermione. Sure, it was all Kate's doing that I am here. Sure, darling, you had absolutely nothing to do with it. The painting appeared here all by itself. I have an eye-rolling urge when he nags about Grangers driving him nuts. Really, like he needs help in that department. But he pockets his wand just the same. I feel incredibly victorious about it and stop growling at him.

  


  
'Such a good little boy,' I think mockingly.

  


  
'Fine, take the damn dog with you,' Voldemort says to Kate.

  


  
'And so nice and obedient,' I add grinning, while Kate cheers and hugs me around the neck. 'Ouch, careful sis, you're pulling on my hair!'

  


  
Sloan shows Kate the way out; and I walk beside her with my tail held high, while keeping a close, triumphant eye on Lord Voldemort. We walk along the corridors of what I now recognise as the Department of Mysteries. I have some very nasty memories of being cursed here by Dolohov of all people. Kate chats effortlessly with Sloan, who holds open a door for all of us.

  


  
But as Kate moves into the room an overwhelming feeling of remorse, that isn't mine, fills me up; and a harsh pain strikes directly into my heart, making me squeal in agony. A powerful surge of magic strikes my body and I stare at the unconscious body of the Dark Lord. I blink in surprise, but that doesn't make the body go away. I am still back in the room I vacated only minutes ago. I patter toward him and push his body with my paw. He really is out cold; again. He'll be pissed when he wakes. I know that for sure.

  


  
However, I do know now what lies at the origin of these episodes of him. He feels a twinge of remorse, if only for a moment, and the Amortentia use by his parents made sure his body is not equipped to handle such a strong Light emotion. I think if he ever fully felt remorse for everything he did, it would kill him. The thought horrifies me. I scratch myself behind my ear. When has the concept of Lord Voldemort's death become something else to me beside hooray? I know I love the man. I am not stupid enough to deny my feelings. He is incredibly intelligent, powerful, passionate, charming, determined, dominant, controlling, obsessive, possessive, and completely bonkers. But there has always been a thin line between being perceived as a natural born genius or totally insane; and the latter is not all his fault.

  


  
However, despite my realisation that there are extenuating circumstances to his actions, I am still very much aware of the fact that he is the epiphany of evil; that he made the choice to be and stay dark over and over again; that he never once fought against his urges; that he deliberately denied all help that was handed to him in the past; and that his reign of terror needs to end, somehow. And yet, I feel like I can't live without him anymore. Oh Merlin, why are these things never easy? Why can't it just be a simple black and white choice?

  


  
I stare at the man in sorrow, when I realise it is rather strange he had another one of those fainting episodes. The Amulet of Aine has done its job. It was because of the Amulet's powers he passed out in the past. So why did he pass out now? He shouldn't be troubled with what he, undoubtedly, sees as despicable emotions. I check the papers on the floor to find clues to what he was doing when it happened and my eyes fall on the genealogy of my family immediately. My grandmother's name is what draws my attention. He knew her and … _he cared for her?_

  


  
I can sense his emotions about her inside of me. My God, if she had been a witch… I look back at the man on the floor. He passed out when he saw her name. I need to take a look at that Amulet. With a shock I am back in my human body in Tibet and I feel my mouth move.

  


  
'… Founder of SPEW before she was even born; it clearly indicates whoever made the prophecy was not a fraud,' I speak.

  


  
'Prophecies are made numerous times. It is how we act upon them that grants their worth, Tom,' Jareth responds evasively.

  


  
I look down and check out the Amulet. It's not glowing as it was the other times when Lord Voldemort passed out. So, I am right. It isn't the Amulet that causes it. It's me. My head snaps up when the realisation strikes.

  


  
'Hi Hermione, glad to see you again; is everything alright?' Jareth asks mildly.

  


  
'No, it bloody well isn't,' I snarl. 'These little episodes of remorse Voldemort is feeling; it's because of me, isn't it?'

  


  
Jareth nods smiling. 'It's your magical connection that triggers it with him; anything he does that is a harmful act to his counterpart – which is you – will cause one, now that the connection between you two has become so strong,' Jareth answers softly.

  


  
'What is this nonsense?' an irritated voice inside of me asks.

  


  
But I ignore his soul-piece and continue my questions. 'Was it ever the Amulet's doing?'

  


  
'The Amulet merely amplified it. But he would never have been affected by it had he not had genuine feelings towards you. It's the actions and emotions between you two that is the primary cause of it.'

  


  
I bite my lip.

  


  
'What happened?' Jareth asks.

  


  
'He saw my grandmother's name and…'

  


  
'That would definitely do it. The combination of his first chance and you…,' Jareth halts contemplatively. 'He would have been furious to see Sally's name, no doubt. Tom never liked the idea of being influenced by someone else.'

  


  
'You are related to Sally Woodburn?' Voldemort hisses inside of me.

  


  
'Yes,' I hiss back, 'she was my grandmother alright.'

  


  
It turns eerily silent inside of me.

  


  
'What? Nothing to say to that?' I sneer, and I snort when there is no response.

  


  
'It's quite amazing, actually, that you are able to penetrate the walls he built around himself. I believe you are the first to succeed in that. Do not underestimate what that means, Hermione,' Jareth says and he looks at me in all earnestly. 'It would be a grave mistake to do so.'

  


  
I stare at Jareth, while his words sink in. 'I have to get back,' I say with a sense of urgency.

  


  
'Until later then,' Jareth says smiling.

  


  
I concentrate and I am back in the room of the Department of Mysteries. I race to Voldemort. Okay, wake up, you bastard, don't you dare die on me. I start pushing him with my paw, but he hardly moves an inch. This won't do. Of course! Eh, I am a dog, ain't I? I snicker when I start lapping all over his face and leave drool everywhere. Vengeance is mine. When he stirs, I nudge him with my nose. Come on, move, damn it.

  


  
It's when his eyes open and he stares straight at me. Thank Merlin. I see his confusion and the questions that obviously are flying through his mind, while he moves to a seated position and glares at me. 'How did you get in here?'

  


  
Talk about your stupid question. So I sit down and merely cock my head condescendingly. I mean surely he must realise he summoned me here. It was his magic that brought me to this chamber when I was about to move along with Kate elsewhere.

  


  
I hear his thoughts and his delusional denial about feeling remorse with regards to Obliviating my grandmother, but it triggers another more serious episode than before. I can feel the pain like it is inside of me and it is unbearable. Flashes of a most haunting memory pass by before my eyes. It's Harry's mum standing in front of a crib, pleading for her son's life. This memory is killing him; I can sense it. So, I place my paw softly on his arm in an attempt to comfort him somewhat. But to my surprise he grabs a hold of me desperately and buries his head inside of my fur. Ouch, watch the hair! Oh for crying out loud, you're crushing me, maniac.

  


  
Jets of green show me murder after murder after murder. It's dreadful to witness; but I stay there just the same, remembering some of Yoda's words about compassion. It's when I hear Kate call out in the distance. She is genuinely upset, because I am not there. I have to be there for her. It tears me apart. I am torn between the two, but when Kate's voice turns higher in angst; I move away from the Dark Lord. She is my sister; she acknowledges she needs me; and she is just a little girl. I can't…

  


  
'Don't … don't go,' Lord Voldemort pleads in despair.

  


  
It shocks me beyond the very core of my being. He – He asks for help? I turn my head and look at him, lying sprawled on the floor. It breaks my heart to see him like that. I can't let him lie there, dying helpless and alone. I move back and lie down beside him, placing my head on his chest. I am here. You are going to be fine. You have to be fine. His arm wraps around me. I have no idea where he draws the strength to do so, because I can hear the utter silence inside his chest. His heart is not beating. I close my eyes and focus my magic on this undesirable situation. Beat, damn it, beat! A white light flies around us and a breath of relief escapes me when I feel the _thump_ of a heartbeat. He gasps for air; he is alive. I have to find Kate now. She needs me too. I swirl away to the door when…

  


  
'Hermione?'

  


  
You've got to be kidding me. I halt abruptly and turn my head expectantly. Is he really going to acknowledge it is me? A powerful thankful emotion comes from his mind, and I zone into his thoughts. He really is grateful? I can't believe it. But then he starts scolding himself for having ridiculous urges to thank a dog, followed by the usual self-glorifying comments and the blaming of third parties. And I smile. He is going to be just fine.

  


  
'Glad you are feeling better,' I say mockingly inside his head. 'I think I would have had a heart attack myself had you thanked me. I mean what would the world be coming to?'

  


  
And I smirk at him when I notice the absolute shocked expression on his face. 'Yeah, you weren't expecting this when you were in such a hurry to turn me into a Horcrux, were you?' I think triumphantly to myself.

  


  
But I need to get to Kate, so I move away before Voldemort even has a chance to respond to the comment I made in his mind. I patter cheerfully to Kate, who scolds me for running away before rubbing my head with a relieved expression. She really deserves a dog. I focus to split my mind from the creature and move back to my body in Tibet, while the dog remains with Kate as a normal dog. I know I don't need to come back here. The memory of Harry's mum made me realise Voldemort can't touch my parents. He made the same mistake again by killing Yoda, who sacrificed himself to protect them. Yoda put himself into my parents' place and by doing so they are protected in the same manner as Harry was. I can stay in Tibet fully now. I am no longer needed here.

  


  
'You, the coot, the House-elf impersonator, you all lost her,' I sneer triumphantly.

  


  
Jareth smiles solemnly. 'So, you are telling me it wasn't you who performed the Killing Curse on Mulciber?'

  


  
I fold my arms over each other, and a strange feeling of incredible smugness overwhelms me. 'You and I both know it doesn't matter who cast it, the physical effects remain,' I say pleased. 'One more and she is hooked.'

  


  
Okay, that is quite a bit of too much information. Out; move; off you go!

  


  
'Hermione, I trust everything is fine?' Jareth says smiling at me.

  


  
'It is now,' I say calmly, stretching my arms, because I am happy to be back in my normal body. 'How are you able to tell so quickly it is me?'

  


  
'Well, I am still waiting for my cookie,' he says chuckling, 'but I did spend ten years with Tom. He has very distinct mannerisms.'

  


  
'Pfftt…, I'll show him some of my distinct mannerisms. Just wait till my other self gets here,' someone grumbles inside of me.

  


  
'I suppose he has,' I respond to Jareth, while I shake my head tiresomely in response to the other one.

  


  
This Horcrux business is giving me a headache. There definitely is one too many of us here in this body, and I know for a fact the redundant one is not me. I look down at the Amulet and cast the charm to remove it off my neck. So, there are a few advantages to being a Horcrux as well. It still doesn't balance out to the disadvantages; definitely not.

  


  
'How old is this thing, and what exactly does it do?' I ask contemplatively, tossing Aine's Amulet on the table between us.

  


  
'So, you guessed?'

  


  
'That the stupid fairytale is a figment of your overly wild imagination? Yes, that wasn't a difficult deduction at all after what you just told me. Tell me, Jareth, knowing Tom's distinctive mannerisms,' I rebut, using his words against him, 'did you consider the full implications of your story when you made up the tale of the evil emperor, who killed the parents of the elf, who loved him?'

  


  
'Uhm…,' he mumbles shifting uncomfortably, 'I may have screwed up there a bit.'

  


  
I raise my eyebrows. 'A bit?'

  


  
'Alright, I made an error of gigantic proportions, but I tried everything to make sure your parents remained out of his reach when I realised what I did.'

  


  
'Well, that worked out fine too, then.'

  


  
'They are safe now, Hermi…'

  


  
'Not thanks to you,' I interrupt sharply.

  


  
'I wanted to go myself, but Yoda – as you call him – wouldn't let me; said it was his mess to begin with.'

  


  
Jareth watches sideways out the window, and I wait silently for him to continue. Thank Merlin someone else is pretty curious right about now as well, so I don't have to hear a sneering comment.

  


  
'The Amulet of Aine is ten years old,' Jareth replies to my earlier question, having regained his composure.

  


  
'Ten years,' I repeat quietly.

  


  
'Yoda asked Maglor to make it after you arrived at the monastery,' Jareth responds calmly. 'As far as I understand it, it enhances the magical connection between the both of you and it grants immortality to its wearer.'

  


  
'What?' Voldemort and I snap simultaneously, while my eyes fall back on the stone I wore continuously ever since Voldemort obtained it.

  


  
'Its powers are partly based on Flamel's research, which Yoda took with him to Everon, so Maglor had detailed information on how to create the Amulet of Aine.'

  


  
'Now, hold on,' I say baffled. 'I don't get this. I don't get this at all. Why on earth would anyone want to create another Philosopher Stone?' And I pick up the Amulet and swing it around by its cord angrily. 'Especially while knowing about the moron's stupid immortality fetish!'

  


  
'Eh, Granger, I am right here, you know,' Voldemort's soul dryly reminds me.

  


  
'You just stated my objections word for word, Hermione,' Jareth answers. 'But Yoda said it was imperative and he also said you could handle the responsibility.'

  


  
'I don't want to be immortal!' I shout, while I jump to my feet aggravated. 'Don't you Knights ever think of asking someone what they want before you make decisions about their lives?'

  


  
'You have to ask?' Voldemort replies snorting.

  


  
'Oh, shut up, you aren't any better,' I retort annoyed, and I continue my rant at Jareth, pacing to and fro in the room all the while gesturing exuberantly. 'I mean, really, Flamel and his wife died so he couldn't obtain their stone. But you lot just blatantly ignore their sacrifice and create a new one. Who cares, right? We just go to Maglo…' I halt abruptly and stare at Jareth as the realisation hits me. 'Why did Yoda need an elf to create the stone? Surely, he could have done so himself if he had Flamel's research.'

  


  
'I honestly have no idea, Hermione.'

  


  
I scowl.

  


  
'No, truly,' he says, gesturing at me to sit down again, 'I asked Yoda about this too and he simply said the Stone required Elfin magic to work correctly. It's not merely a Philosopher's Stone in its nature, and Yoda stated only an elf could make the properties to enhance the magical connection that exists between Tom and you.'

  


  
I make a face.

  


  
'I don't understand it fully myself either,' Jareth continues. 'I think he needed Maglor more for that bit, instead of the immortality aspects of the stone, but I am not certain.'

  


  
I throw my arms in the air in irritation. If Yoda didn't tell Jareth, how the hell am I going to figure out what this Amulet is truly about? Fragments of an old conversation make their way back to my memory.

  


  
_'I see you fumbled around with the Amulet's powers.'_

  


  
_'Is that going to be a problem?'_

  


  
_'Not to me.'_

  


  
Maglor may know the answers. If Yoda asked him to make the Amulet, then Yoda had to confide in him what powers it needed to behold. Knowing Maglor as I have got to know him during my time in Everon, he would not have created something like this on a mere whim of another. Yoda would have had some solid arguments before Maglor would have gone along with creating this.

  


  
But then, there is the ominous prophecy. I can't just go to Everon without knowing more first.

  


  
_'The Elders wanted me to let you know that you will always be welcomed back in Everon with the highest regards, Miss Granger.'_

  


  
It's what Maglor stated just before he left, and it didn't make sense to me at the time, considering he was the only one who ever made me feel welcome in Everon. The other elves, especially the Elders, avoided me like the plague. But now that I've heard the bit about Everon rising and me being some sort of referee to ultimate victory for one, I am beginning to see why I would be welcome to return.

  


  
'What do _you_ know for sure about this Amulet?' I ask thoughtfully, having calmed down a bit.

  


  
'That it gives immortality to its wearer. That it causes the magical connection between you two to become more powerful than it would have been on its merit alone. That Yoda felt adamant these things would assist you.'

  


  
'What about its soul-healing aspects and making someone feel remorse and so on?'

  


  
Jareth shakes his head slowly. 'There isn't a trinket in the world that could accomplish such a feat.'

  


  
'He is clearly lying,' Voldemort states quietly. 'I've split up the magic in the stone that contained those powers. I am not blind. They were there alright.'

  


  
'Voldemort split the magic of those powers in the stone,' I repeat suspiciously.

  


  
'Oh, I am sure he split the magic of those powers. But he saw those powers in the Amulet, because they are a part of the magic that flows between you two. So he split those powers thinking they were inside the Amulet, while they in fact exist between you.'

  


  
I frown. 'So, he saw those powers in the Amulet, because it channels and builds upon the already existing force between us, making it more visible to the naked eye?' I recap slowly.

  


  
'Exactly.'

  


  
'And he split the powers so the soul-healing aspects would go to him and the yucky feelings would go to me…' I halt there for a moment. 'But that doesn't make sense. Secrets of the Darkest Art states that only remorse can make a person heal his soul. If the Amulet didn't heal it for him and he felt no true remorse…'

  


  
'I most certainly did not feel such a despicable thing,' Voldemort adds, putting his two Knuts in.

  


  
'…but only brief bursts of it,' I continue, ignoring him. 'Then, how did he heal his soul?'

  


  
'He didn't,' Jareth says softly, and before I am able to rebut that ridiculous statement furiously, because – lets face it – the Horcrux I've become is a firm and undeniable evidence of the opposite, he adds: 'you did it for him.'

  


  
I look at him silently.

  


  
'But I think you already know that, Hermione,' Jareth says softly. 'You've got a big heart that is capable of love and forgiveness to such an extreme it heals.'

  


  
No. I shake my head in disagreement. 'I am not a forgiving person; I am actually quite vengeful,' I retort with certainty.

  


  
Jareth nods. 'I know you can be. But you know both sides of the spectrum. You are able to forgive those you love. It's love, the greatest magical force, which enabled you to forgive Ron for his behaviour.'

  


  
'I sent a flock of birds to pick at his head,' I grumble, still disagreeing.

  


  
Jareth laughs. 'And you forgave Harry for making Ron the one he would miss most during your fourth year.'

  


  
'They were both boys and Ron was a lot more fun to be around with than me. I always wanted to study. Besides, they had much more in common, so it was only natural.' I excuse Harry quickly, even though I still remember how much it stung at the time. I mean, Viktor Krum, a complete stranger, valued me more than my best friend.

  


  
'I think Potter's choice had more to do with the fact that he never had to be afraid to lose you as a friend,' Voldemort says quietly. 'You always were the reliable one; Weasley wasn't.'

  


  
I've never thought of it that way.

  


  
'Trust me; I've seen enough inside that boy's mind to know you were the one person he never doubted, and the one he relied on the most. The concept of having to miss you was so completely foreign to him; it wouldn't have entered his mind as an option,' Voldemort adds.

  


  
A small smile forms on my face and I feel so much better all of the sudden. 'Thanks.'

  


  
But Jareth speaks up again, stopping our internal conversation. 'So, I think I've established you are able to forgive just as much as you are able to avenge, and love is the force which causes the distinction between the actions you choose to exhibit. You love him and because you understand where his true darkness originates you were capable to absolve Tom of his crimes.'

  


  
'I never forgave him for what he did.'

  


  
No, you didn't forgive the actions; you forgave the man.'

  


  
It becomes utterly silent; for a very, long time.

  


  
Until I let out a short laugh. 'Oh Godric, this is so ironically cruel. It's not even funny.'

  


  
Jareth gives me a knowing look. 'This is not a bad thing, Hermione.'

  


  
'It isn't?' And I start laughing again. 'I went out of my way to hide that silly Amulet of yours, so he wouldn't become immortal again, and now you're telling me I am the one who healed his soul.' Another burst of laughter. 'Oh my, people beware; Hermione Jean Granger to the rescue. She will save the day and stop darkness from ascending!' A fit of uncontrollable laughter hits me, and I grab on to my belly to ease the cramps.

  


  
'You are doing just that,' Jareth says calmly.

  


  
A soft cling makes me look at the table and I roar with laughter when I see Jareth has placed a cup of tea in front of me. 'Turning into Yoda?' I hiccough.

  


  
'The Force sent you on his path and you healed him. Your love caused you to be able to absorb a huge amount of his darkness inside of you through your connection, and...'

  


  
'Oh, so that is why my eyes are turning dark. Well, at least I solved that mystery,' I mockingly interrupt.

  


  
'And due to your forgiveness and true understanding of where his darkness originates his soul was mended. It was his decision to rip it apart again,' Jareth adds.

  


  
'Yeah, because The Force could never have seen that one coming,' I blurt out sarcastically. 'Aren't we all doing great?'

  


  
'Yes, you are; you are. Yoda was right in his assessment about you. When you left the monastery, I was certain Yoda was making a similar error as before with Sally, but now…'

  


  
'Hold on,' I say sharply, 'did you say Sally? As in my grandmother? What kind of error are we talking about here?'

  


  
'You know you grandmother was an orphan and that she went to the same orphanage as Tom, right?'

  


  
'Yes,' I say slowly, dreading where this may be going.

  


  
'But what you may not be aware of is that she was orphaned at birth and grew up here first.'

  


  
'NO!' Voldemort and I speak up shocked and simultaneously again. This must not become a habit. It's giving me goose bumps whenever I agree with him.

  


  
'Yes,' Jareth nods. 'The Knights adopted her and her fourteen year older brother, Simon. It took some doing, but magic helps a lot under these circumstances. Simon was already going to a boarding school at the time, so he only was here during the summer holidays. But Sally basically spent the first ten years of her life in this very place.' And he waves his hand around, smiling fondly at the memory. 'She was a very bright and happy child; totally blunt and unabashed at times and always full of questions about everything.'

  


  
I am trying to the best of my abilities to wrap my mind around this new bit of information, but I can't separate the forest from the trees anymore. And I think it must have shown on my face, because Jareth says: 'Why don't I start from the beginning?'

  


  
'Sounds like a plan,' I mutter.

  


  
'Oh great, another magnificent story,' Voldemort mocks.

  


  
'It all started a long time ago when Merope Gaunt forced Tom Riddle to elope with her.'

  


  
'Amortentia,' I say knowingly. 'Or the creation of evil.'

  


  
'Yes, Amortentia is the most dangerous potion known to mankind. It's called a Love Potion, but the better name for it would be Obsession, since there never is true love involved in its use. Anyway, on the 31st of March 1926, a child was conceived under its influence.'

  


  
'Voldemort.'

  


  
'Yes,' Jareth says gravely. 'I still remember it like it happened only yesterday. I was admiring the snow on the mountain when I felt the disturbance in the Force. A darkness unlike I ever felt before rushed through it, making the foundations of everything we believe in tremble and stir, because this darkness had no counterpart. Nothing the Force had to offer on the light side was powerful enough to contain it. So Yoda went to see what the origin of this darkness was. He located it in London in the belly of an emotionally broken woman. When he came back to Tibet with a heavy heart, we all knew that the Force had nothing to contain this evil.

  


  
But then… two months later a baby girl was conceived, Sally Woodburn. And I was relieved, because I knew the Force had given us an answer to this darkness when I felt the Force shiver with her light.'

  


  
'But my grandmother was not magical, was she?' I ask dumbfounded, and I can sense I am not the only one who is now wondering about that.

  


  
'Hermione, you have seen and drawn magic from the trees, the plants, the animals and more. Surely, you realise by now that magic is in all of us. Not everyone can use or control it in the manner in which witches and wizards can, but magic is a Force of Nature. In essence it is in everything and everyone, but only those with a gift can use it. How else do you think a witch could be born from two Muggles?'

  


  
'You mean everyone is magical, but only a few can use those powers?'

  


  
Jareth nods. 'Using magic is a skill, like some are better in mathematics, or sports, or languages, or whatever…'

  


  
'But if my grandmother was such a powerful light source, how come she was not a witch?'

  


  
'The amount of darkness or light inside someone doesn't depend on them being able to use it magically. And the Force always searches for the absolute opposite in cases as these. Tom would be a wizard, so naturally your grandmother would be a Muggle.'

  


  
'Oh,' I say, not really seeing the logic in that reasoning, but eh… who am I to argue with the Force?

  


  
'Anyway, on December the 31st 1926 close to midnight, the Force nearly burst from darkness when Tom was born. His mother died soon after that, leaving her son in an environment that would keep him alive but nothing more. For a long time…'

  


  
'Why didn't you do anything?' I interrupt. 'You could have done something. I don't know… kill him, take him elsewhere, allow him to grow up with loving parents,…'

  


  
Jareth shakes his head. 'It would not have saved him from his destiny. Darkness that pervasive cannot be destroyed so easily. If I had been able to kill the baby, and that is a big if, the darkness would have found its home in me or another origin.'

  


  
'Okay, but you could have…'

  


  
'Given him to a loving couple?' Jareth finishes smiling. 'Believe me, Hermione, the Knights have considered it, but it would have been useless. The couple in question would have succumbed to him, not the other way around.'

  


  
I am not completely agreeing on this with him, but I decide to let him finish his story, since it's too late to change their choice anyway.

  


  
'Besides, we had placed our hopes in the unborn girl that would arrive two months later. The Force wants to balance dark with light, so we had every hope this would be our answer.'

  


  
Of course they would think that. Let everything balance in the hand of others, so they won't have to do anything themselves. This is so typical.

  


  
'But when your grandmother was born, her mother died in a similar manner as Merope. She left two children alone in the world, since her husband perished a couple of months before. Yoda found out that the Muggles were planning to bring both the children to an orphanage in London.'

  


  
'Let me guess, the same one Tom was staying in,' I interrupt.

  


  
Jareth nods slowly. 'Yes, and I think here is where we made our largest blunder. Yoda felt, since the baby girl was obviously not magical, that she needed some form of magical teachings before she could face the darkness that was and is Voldemort. So, we prevented the transfer of both children to the orphanage, made sure Simon could stay at his school and brought Sally here.'

  


  
'But wouldn't it make more sense to have both opposite forces meet as earl…,' I start, but when I see Jareth's sad expression I halt. Oh yeah, he mentioned the word blunder. There really is no need to rub it in.

  


  
'We can't undo what we did back then,' Jareth continues, 'we shouldn't have interfered with the will of the Force, but we did and because we did…' He stares out the window silently for a while and I can't help but wonder whether he agreed with Yoda's decision at the time. Somehow, I don't think he would have.

  


  
'Anyway, your grandmother grew up here and she learned everything there is to know about magic, the Force of Nature, and the task she was destined to fulfil from an early age on.'

  


  
I frown, because really, that is a bit much responsibility to lay down on a child's shoulders.

  


  
'When she turned ten, Yoda felt she was ready and Sally went to the orphanage, crying, because she didn't want to leave the only home she ever had. I had a bad feeling about the entire situation, but Yoda was adamant about Sally's capabilities. And I had to admit that for a Muggle girl she understood the Force quiet exceptionally. However, there was one factor that we – in all our arrogance – forgot about.'

  


  
'Hogwarts,' I say.

  


  
'Morons,' Voldemort snorts and his laugh resonates inside my head.

  


  
Jareth nods. 'Yes, in all our haste to teach Sally the ways of the Knights of Silence, we forgot that by the time she would be able to leave us, Tom would be heading for Hogwarts and their time together would be extremely minimal. However, she still came close in succeeding, despite the disadvantage of her not being magical and their lack of contact. However, we know that during the times she was with him she had an impact… And she almost prevented a triple murder, almost,' Jareth says sadly. 'Had she been a witch, she might have pulled him out. Such a remarkable woman, you're a lot like her, Hermione.'

  


  
_Yeah, add on the creep factor._

  


  
'Wait a second…,' Voldemort mutters angrily inside of me, and before I am able to do anything about it, he has taken over my body. 'How do you know about Sally's presence at Little Hangleton?'

  


  
'We have a Pensieve, Tom. Sally showed us what happened right after she announced she would be marrying Siegfried and Yoda wasn't particularly pleased about it.'

  


  
My eyes narrow considerably. 'Impossible,' I hear my lips move, 'she met Siegfried during my seventh year at Hogwarts. She couldn't have shown you.'

  


  
'You botched up your Obliviate,' Jareth says calmly.

  


  
'Rubbish,' I speak, and I make a dismissive hand wave.

  


  
'No, not rubbish. Sally had been practising our ways of meditation since she was a very, little girl and she was extremely gifted in it. Besides, you basically warned her you were going to do it, before you cast the spell. She had plenty of time to raise a layer in her memory. I don't know what you Obliviated that day, but it wasn't what you assumed it was. And from what I remember of Sally's skills, you would have had to erase her entire mind to get rid of the memory. Something I think you would not have been capable of doing to her.'

  


  
Voldemort is now shaking my head in denial.

  


  
'There were factors in play you were unaware of at the time, Tom. It's not a lack in skill.'

  


  
I feel someone bristle inside of me, and he is definitely planning to cast something vile now. 'Out!' I yell furiously, and I regain control over my body just in a nick of time, because I can feel the first syllable of Avada was already beginning to form in my mind. I breathe in deeply a couple of times before asking Jareth to continue where he left off.

  


  
'Anyway, as I was saying Yoda wasn't too pleased to hear Sally decided to get married and give up – as he called it. They had a huge falling out, which the entire monastery was able to bear witness to, since Sally never was one for quiet arguments. And when she left I believe she was still pretty pissed with him.'

  


  
I shrug my shoulders.

  


  
'I couldn't blame her either,' Jareth says understandingly. 'Especially after Tom came here and I was making absolutely no progress whatsoever with him.'

  


  
'How could you have?' I state bemused.

  


  
'Well, I was chosen to guide him. Yoda said that I had the best chance of all the Knights to reach Tom, because of my past involvement with darkness. He thought I would be able to understand and pull him out, but I failed. His darkness was too pervasive for me to breach.'

  


  
I frown thoughtfully. That makes no sense whatsoever. 'Maybe you succeeded,' I respond quietly. 'Maybe Yoda wasn't waiting to see if you could pull Tom out from his darkness, but if you could resist the temptation he would provide for you.'

  


  
Jareth's jaw drops in astonishment, making me smile. It's not often I rendered a Knight speechless. Where is Colin Creevey when you need him?

  


  
'Had I known this, I would have made an actual effort to sway him,' Voldemort mutters somewhat disappointed at the missed opportunity inside of me.

  


  
'Where was I?' Jareth mutters a little distraught. 'Oh yeah; after your grandmother's influence on Tom Riddle disappeared his darkness grew tremendously. When the Force realised they severed their involvement in each other permanently, it searched desperately for a new light solution. She was born on January 30td 1960 and her name was Lily Evans.'

  


  
'Harry's mum,' I say calmly.

  


  
Somehow, the news doesn't come as a shock to me. It's beginning to add up now. However, someone else is not taking it very admirably and his anger is beginning to overwhelm me. I need all my concentration not to fall into his dark emotions and let them take me over.

  


  
'Yes, and this time the person in question was a witch,' Jareth continues.

  


  
'A Muggle-born witch,' I add.

  


  
'Naturally,' Jareth states. 'Now, considering how things went with Sally, we decided not to intervene this time around. However, it turned out that Lily had even less contact with Tom than Sally had. And correct me if I am wrong, Tom, but I would guess your interactions didn't start, until after Lily became an Unspeakable who specialised in matters of life and death?'

  


  
It remains utterly silent inside of me. And I can feel the wheels of his mind turning rapidly. I nod "yes" in his place. I can sense Jareth is right.

  


  
'I thought so. It would explain why the Force started searching for another Light Force before Lily Evans even had a chance to interact with Lord Voldemort.'

  


  
'How do you mean?' I ask confused.

  


  
'You were born on September 19th 1979, Hermione, which means you were conceived somewhere in January 1979. Lily Evans left Hogwarts in June 1978 and married James Potter almost immediately afterward. They took an extensive honeymoon for more than six months before returning back to the UK. Lily accepted her job as an Unspeakable at the beginning of February, which would place her in Tom's path. But by then, the Force had already considered her not to be a viable option either. And it went back to the family of the one person who had had a small influence and might have succeeded had she been a witch.'

  


  
'My grandmother.'

  


  
'Yes, however, now things are getting messy.'

  


  
'Now?' Voldemort mocks.

  


  
And I raise my eyebrows, because I happen to agree with him on this little detail.

  


  
'Because you would have been number three, you were the Light side's final shot. So, the Force pulled out all the stops on you. Not only did it choose to go back to the family it started with and made sure this time it would be a magical child, but it also matched your magical powers to be the opposite of Tom's; thereby making your magic compatible to his. However, Lily Potter-Evans was a very gifted Unspeakable, whose subject of investigation revolved around the veil and all matters concerning life and death.'

  


  
'Something that would definitely attract Voldemort's attention.'

  


  
'Indeed, but it also created something, we assume, the Force had not been counting on or maybe it had, but couldn't officially. You see it is not allowed to have more than one opposite in play simultaneously. But when Voldemort attacked the Potters on that fateful Halloween night, Lily used her ancient knowledge of life and death to protect her son. And because she died out of love for Harry; her love provided him with a shield that made it unable for Tom to harm him.'

  


  
'I know; Dumbledore told Harry this.'

  


  
'But there was also something else he didn't tell Harry. Because love was the source Lily used to protect Harry, all her Light powers transferred to him.'

  


  
'All? But wouldn't that mean that Harry was also…?'

  


  
'Oh yes, and then, there were two; you and Harry. Two sources of light against one of darkness, highly irregular I'll tell you. I'm sure the fates up above disapproved severely,' Jareth says grinning. 'It really is no wonder you became friends. We actually thought for a long time that it would be your combined efforts that would pull Tom out of the darkness he exists in, but I guess it wasn't meant to be.'

  


  
'I am not going to succeed either,' I say, and I despise how weak it sounds, but I know I am right. He is dragging me into his realm. It's not the other way around. 'Why didn't you approach me sooner about all this? So I could have studied the ways of the Force earlier in life. I understand why you didn't with Lily, but seeing that method didn't work out either…'

  


  
'We couldn't contact you anymore. We tried, and perhaps another Knight as Yoda should have went and maybe then we would have been successful? Anyway, your grandmother wasn't particularly pleased to see us again. She used Tom's wards to kick Yoda out, and by doing so, she inadvertently activated an ancient law that made sure you had to approach us; you became shielded from us by darkness before you were even born.'

  


  
'Oh.'

  


  
Jareth rubs his chin, while gazing at me. 'I don't think you will lose, Hermione. You've resisted his darkness for so long now. You know every bit of it. You've even absorbed huge parts of it and still you have not fallen. It takes someone exceptionally strong to hold all that darkness inside and not succumb to it. I believe you will succeed. You've been able to reach him, Hermione; something that shouldn't be possible due to the Amortentia use by his parents. Don't give up now, please.'

  


  
'I am not giving up; I am being realistic. If I had a chance of making a difference, it would have been after healing his soul. But he ripped it apart again. We both know he will never, ever change and I am not even sure I want him too,' I add honestly. 'I know it will sound crazy, but I … I love him.'

  


  
Jareth smiles. 'I don't find that crazy. I've seen Tom in action for about a decade up close and personal. He is an exceptional wizard, despite his darkness.'

  


  
'And there is the difference between you and me,' I add. 'You say he is an exceptional wizard despite his darkness, while I love the entire package. I am so doomed.'

  


  
'Darkness does have certain addictive qualities,' Jareth admits. 'And you already carry so much of it inside of you, yet, you're still able to love and feel. Doomed are those who lose that capability.'

  


  
'Or who never had it,' I add thoughtfully.

  


  
'Exactly.'

  


  
I pick up the Amulet again and gaze at it suspiciously. 'Maglor will know what this thing does.'

  


  
'I am sure he will,' Jareth replies softly.

  


  
'But I can't go to Everon.'

  


  
'Why not?'

  


  
'There are still missing links. I am overlooking something. This prophecy…' I tap with my fingers on the couch. 'It's ominous.'

  


  
'What makes you say that?' Jareth asks thoughtfully.

  


  
'For a decade Darkness will rule and Everon will rise. A choice must be made by the Founder of SPEW. She alone beholds the key to ultimate victory for one. Everon will rise,' I repeat absentmindedly. I look back up at Jareth seriously. 'Ultimate victory for one … that is not a good thing.'

  


  
'It is if I win,' Voldemort states.

  


  
And I merely groan in exasperation.

  


  
'I see what you mean,' Jareth responds, 'but prophecies are …'

  


  
'Darkness has ruled for a decade,' I interrupt, 'the prophecy was made by one of your Knights to Dumbledore long before I founded SPEW or before I was even born. Despite my doubts about the value of the subject of Divination, I think I am entitled to take this one seriously. I feel I have to take this one seriously.'

  


  
There is no reply.

  


  
'Everon will rise,' I mutter. 'What for Merlin's sake does that mean? Everon and SPEW … Elves and House-elves? Elves…?' I stare at the blind wall. 'Morgan Le Fay!' I yell, and I jump to my feet excited. 'There are rumours she was an Elf; she may have the answers we need. We should check her place to see if there is any information about Everon there that will explain this.'

  


  
'Oh, should we now?' Voldemort taunts.

  


  
'Hermione?' Jareth asks.

  


  
'He knows where Le Fay's knowledge is stashed,' I explain to Jareth absentminded, because I am focusing on the one person I need to get me where I need to go. 'Come on, you are the Divination dweller of the both of us; you know you wanna check it out to see if there is anything there that can assure your victory,' I smoothly say.

  


  
'How very slippery of you, Granger,' Voldemort responds.

  


  
'Must be the company I keep.'

  


  
'Must be.'

  


  
'Or we can always gamble and go to Everon unprepared, while the other side knows everything,' I add innocently. 'I know you just _loooove_ surprises… Surprises like the one when you attacked Harry and found out your wand malfunctions against him.'

  


  
'Are you sure you wore the real Sorting Hat?'

  


  
'Hermione!' Jareth yells, and I wince in shock.

  


  
'Sorry,' he adds apologetically, 'but you didn't seem to hear me before. I was saying that most Potions Researchers believe Morgan Le Fay is the person who created Amortentia.'

  


  
I can't believe I forgot about Culthrop's writings. 'Okay, this is just too much. Any Arithmancer will tell you the odds to all this being coincidental are so minimal it's negligible. We have to go there,' I order bossily. 'So, where is it?'

  


  
'We can go there in a minute or so,' Voldemort says smugly.

  


  
'No, we need to go there now; we lost enough time…,' I halt my internal dialogue and look at Jareth shocked. 'Lord Voldemort is here!'

  


  
'Yeah, I noticed his arrival,' Jareth says lazily.

  


  
'Where is Le Fay's knowledge hidden?' I hiss furiously, but there is no answer. 'Fine, we'll do it your way. Legilimency,' I cast with the addition of the power of three.

  


  
_'…I am walking through a green field…'_

  


  
_'…A large stone is standing upright in front of me and I feel incredibly excited…'_

  


  
_'…I cast a Cleansing Charm to clear the dust and debris out of the way as…'_

  


  
_'…I am outside again and smirk as I take in the large stones in my surroundings. Le Fay surely had a great sense of humour hiding her knowledge in the design of her archenemy…'_

  


  
It's when Voldemort tosses me out of his memory, and I grab a hold of the couch to catch my breath.

  


  
'Are you alright?' Jareth asks concerned.

  


  
'Stonehenge; it's inside Merlin's Stonehenge,' I say panting.

  


  
'Go, we'll keep him busy,' Jareth says, and he waves his hand to create an Apparation Portal inside the monastery.

  


  
'But…'

  


  
'Just go, Hermione, trust me.'

  


  
'Thanks,' I say and I step into the portal.

  


  
'Hermione!' Jareth says, and in my turn around, I catch the item he has tossed toward me. It's the Amulet of Aine.

  


  
'I am not interested in immortality,' I say.

  


  
He holds up his hand, halting me in my motion to throw it back. 'He is,' Jareth says; nodding with his head in the direction Lord Voldemort must be in. 'He made you a Horcrux, and I don't believe he will take the risk of losing you and becoming mortal again. You know what the only other way is he can use to prevent you from dying; keep the Amulet, Hermione. You don't want to split your soul.'

  


  
I glare at the horrible device in my hand and shake my head, before I pull the cord over my neck again in irritation. As I spin on the spot and Disapparate, I see a door fly of its hinges violently.  
  
---


	30. Part Two

---  
  
**A/N** : part two of Hermione's POV

* * *

  
**The Bittersweet Taste of Victory**

  


  
_I've got the stuff that you want  
  
I've got the thing that you need  
  
I've got more than enough  
  
To make you drop to your knees  
  
Cause I'm the queen of the night  
  
The queen of the night  
  
Oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah_

  


  
Whitney Houston; Queen of the night.

  


  
**Chapter twenty-nine: part two**

  


  
With the solemn, familiar crack of Apparition I arrive back in the UK on a field of green in the county of Wiltshire. Large stones up ahead indicate I have arrived at the right destination and I walk to ancient site curiously. It's probably pretty embarrassing to admit this for an English witch, but I have never seen it before. I was sick the day my old Muggle school took a day-trip to it, and my parents always took me on vacations abroad. I scowl as I walk past the Slaughter Stone and move towards the huge construction. Even among the Wizarding World the origin of the structure has gone lost, but the myths involving the Slaughter Stone are not particularly nice. I remember my History of Magic classes very clearly; it was all about disgusting, ridiculous sacrifices. Professor Binns, reluctantly, told us some of the myths involving Stonehenge, awakening everyone in class. But then he concentrated back on the known facts of history as he called it, and Ron – as well as the others – fell asleep again.

  


  
Those known facts are that Giants – who brought the stones from Africa to Ireland – were involved in its original construction on Mount Killaraus. Then, there was some war with the Irish from whom the stones were nicked by Merlin and he rebuilt it here. But exactly the how, what and why of Stonehenge remains a mystery to all. Now I have found out Le Fay used this mysterious place to hide her knowledge. I walk to the centre of it and look around the humongous stones. I just have one little, tiny, minuscule, inconsequential issue right now. Where the hell did she stash it precisely?

  


  
A soft snicker starts inside of me. 'Forgot to check for that, my dear? You really need to learn to focus on your precise needs when you perform Legilimency. But I hope you have fun searching,' Voldemort's soul taunts. 'I am sure it won't be long before I get here.'

  


  
'Well, in that case it won't matter if you tell me where the entrance is,' I respond smoothly.

  


  
'Why? Can't you find it on your own?' he snickers. 'Come on, Granger; dazzle me with your insight.'

  


  
I sigh and my hand grabs my poor aching forehead. This really is giving me a headache. 'Can't you ever do anything without the need to make a silly match of it? It's in your best interest to find out about Everon and Amortentia too,' I snarl irritated.

  


  
'Do you really think I care about some stupid Love Potion?' Voldemort huffs.

  


  
'Argh!' I throw my hands in the air in aggravation. 'Your mother used it!'

  


  
'Pfftt… so what? There are many more silly women who use silly methods to get their hands on silly men.'

  


  
'You were conceived under it.'

  


  
'Oh, hellup,' he mocks. 'Someone save me now. I am shivering in fear; my world is falling apart; a Love Potion is to be my downfall. Yes, children, welcome to the fairytale of love conquering evil. Love's magic is _sooooo_ powerful; it will obliterate all evil bastards like me. Ahhhh! I can feel it now. I am melting! I am melting!'

  


  
'Drama queen,' I mutter.

  


  
His loud laughter runs through me, a small smile forms on my face in amusement and my shoulders shake slightly. But I am not laughing; I am not. I take a deep breath and look around. Well, I guess I have to do this the hard way. I close my eyes and focus on the magic around me. However, there is magic everywhere in this place. The air is even charged with magic, and my skin crawls as I feel it entering inside of me. This is pointless. I open my eyes again. Fine.

  


  
'Legilimency,' I cast, but I am tossed out immediately.

  


  
'Really, Granger, even a buffoon could have seen that one coming a mile away,' Voldemort taunts. 'Surely, you can do better than that?'

  


  
'You don't want me to do better than that,' I hiss warningly.

  


  
'Oh, don't I?' he responds amused. 'I think I would like to see you try.'

  


  
'You have split your soul from your body again, you idiot,' I snarl, 'which means that I have the advantage. You've split up the control over your magic and have generously,' I mock, 'given it to me. Mind, body and soul is what holds the control as I tried to explain to you before.'

  


  
'Oh yeah, I remember,' he says lightly.

  


  
And I furrow my brow. He doesn't believe me? 'You arrogant, presumptuous, overbearing…'

  


  
'Granger,' he interrupts, 'I never said I didn't believe you. But it requires, after all, a huge amount of knowledge on the Dark Arts to gain and hold control over another. So _if_ you have the advantage, then use it,' he orders smugly. 'I've been waiting for ages for you to fall into darkness. Come on dearest, make me winner and we'll see how good you truly are in the Arts.'

  


  
I blink. Damn.

  


  
'Aren't you even going to try?' someone asks in mock disappointment. 'I can tell you which curse you need to use.'

  


  
I roll my eyes. That, he can tell; but where a simple entrance lies … that takes too much effort. So, how do I find a magical entrance in a place that is already swamped with magic? Find the difference in the origin! 'Kreacher!' I call out, excited.

  


  
Crack.

  


  
'What can Kreacher do for Mistress Hermione Jean Granger?' a bullfrog voice sounds behind me.

  


  
I swirl around. 'Kreacher, I need your help in finding a possible Elfin hideout here.'

  


  
'Kreacher will be delighted to find it for Mistress Hermione,' the little House-elf states, beaming.

  


  
'A House-elf?' Voldemort mocks. 'You ask for help from a House-elf?'

  


  
'Thank you, Kreacher,' I mutter, walking around puzzled, 'I am not sure she was an elf though. I know her history has become somewhat of a myth, but…'

  


  
'There is Elfin magic present in that stone,' Kreacher points.

  


  
I look up in triumph. 'You were saying?' I mock back to Voldemort, while walking to one of the largest standing stones. 'So, Morgan Le Fay really was an elf?' I ask Kreacher.

  


  
But I immediately regret the question, because his pointed ears drop and a dark shadow falls over his face before he starts banging his head against one of the stones. 'Bad Kreacher, evil elf.'

  


  
'Stop it; stop it,' I order, grabbing the little House-elf and pulling him away from the stone. 'Kreacher? Why are you punishing yourself?' I ask.

  


  
'We do not speak of it,' he states firmly.

  


  
'What?' I frown. 'About Morgan Le… No, Kreacher, stop!' And I grab his hands to stop him from hitting himself with them.

  


  
'Sweet Salazar, talk about being bonkers,' Voldemort observes.

  


  
'Kreacher will go,' Kreacher claims, 'and Mistress be wise to leave too.'

  


  
'Why?'

  


  
'Mistress must not get involved with _Her_ ,' Kreacher whispers fearfully.

  


  
I narrow my eyes. 'Kreacher,' I start carefully, 'what does "Everon will rise" mean?'

  


  
His eyes turn wide and his little body starts shaking all over. 'Bad thing, bad thing. Everon elves are not to be trusted. Kreacher must leave now! Must leave now!'

  


  
'Kreacher?'

  


  
'We do not talk of it,' he mutters. 'Not allowed; Kreacher must not speak of it.'

  


  
Crack. And he is gone.

  


  
'Sweet Salazar, of all the House-elves in Hogwarts you had to request the aid of the mental deficient one.'

  


  
I stare at the empty spot with growing apprehension. I knew that prophecy was bad news. I just knew it. I swirl toward the stone. A purple jet leaves my spidery hand and I narrow my eyes as Jareth turns my curse into something that is now speeding toward me. A lazy wave of my hand extinguishes his feeble attempt to strike me down. My cold laugh fills the air.

  


  
'Really, Hamlet, that's the best you can do?' I mock.

  


  
'I have no desire to fight you, Tom.'

  


  
'I bet you don't.'

  


  
I fire another curse at the monk's position, but he Apparates away and I watch amused as a part of the building gets blast away. Now, that is a definite improvement of the area.

  


  
'You can try to kill me over and over again, Tom,' Jareth says behind me, and I swirl around, 'but Hermione is not here and you really ought to trust her judgement.'

  


  
Fury rises inside of me. 'Avada Kedavra!'

  


  
Jareth focuses, making the Killing Curse whirl in the air to redirect its path back towards me. Blasted, deceptive, "we only use light magic" Knight. 'You know she is not your enemy, Tom,' I hear his insipid voice say as I Apparate away in hurry.

  


  
When the sensation of Apparation ends, I open my eyes again. But I am no longer in Voldemort's body in Tibet; I am back in my own body. And it appears I'm indoors, probably inside that rock of Stonehenge. I blink, bemused. How did I get in?

  


  
'I got bored outside,' Voldemort's soul responds tiresomely.

  


  
'Bored?'

  


  
'Yes, aren't you going to thank me for transporting you in here?' he teasingly asks.

  


  
'Why thank you,' I reply mockingly.

  


  
'You're welcome, oh thou ever so grateful one,' I hear his snickering voice say as I look around curiously.

  


  
The place is magnificent. Large chandeliers, which automatically lit the moment I entered, are hanging from the ceiling. The walls are huge and seem to go on forever. Every inch of it has a little box in which a scroll lies. This has to be one of the largest, ancient areas of knowledge I have ever seen, and I can't resist myself to take a peek.

  


  
So, only out of general curiosity, I assure you, I pull one scroll and unroll it. It turns out to be an extensive description of the creation of the Furnunculus Curse; otherwise known as: "how to cover your enemy in boils". The other half of the scroll explains how the counter-curse works. I raise my eyebrows. I never knew there was a counter-curse to this one. I remember Goyle had to spend several days in the infirmary, drinking the disgusting potion that makes your skin flawless again. Morgan Le Fay's solution is much quicker and, I am sure, less revolting. I check a couple of more scrolls. It seems they all contain spells and a method to undo said spells. I place the scrolls back reluctantly and look around the place again. It's divided into several different work areas which are isolated from each other by magical walls you can see through.

  


  
I walk to the "booth" on my right that is dedicated to one of the reason I am here: Potions. As I pass the magical wall I feel a small tickling sensation, but it tells me enough. These walls protect the rest of the place in case an accident happens in one of these confined work-spaces. I look around to take in this Potions lab. It's extraordinary. There is a half circular worktable, which has the most exquisite potions equipment I have ever seen. A large storage cabinet, filled with all the supplies you may need, is standing behind the table. I even see a jug with the label Acromantula Venom on it. Considering a pint of the stuff brings up a hundred Galleons, that jug is worth a fortune. My eyes scan the rest of the supplies and I sincerely believe it is a complete set. Everything can be found here. It's unbelievable. A shelf with numerous bottles and little vials of completed potions takes up the left wall of the booth. I think Professor Snape would have been drooling and had thought he had gone to heaven had he seen this.

  


  
However, I walk to the right wall and open the drawer labelled _A_. I, quickly, go through it and pull out the parchment titled Amortentia. But it is only a recipe on how to brew it. I already know how to do that. I need to know what it is supposed to do precisely. It's rather strange that she didn't add that. On a mere hunch, I pull another parchment. It's titled Ageing Potion. This one doesn't merely have brewing instructions and a list of ingredients required; it also contains information on proper usage, the antidote, and many more relevant issues. Oh no. I place it back and pull a couple of random other parchments. All of them have meticulous descriptions of everything concerning the potion they describe. Suspiciously, I glance at the Amortentia document. Why is this one the exception to the rule?

  


  
'Because even Le Fay, apparently, acknowledged love beholds no power. It seems she stopped working on the foolish endeavour of creating something so useless,' Voldemort replies triumphantly.

  


  
'Hmmm… I thought you read Culthrop?' I rebut smirking.

  


  
'Culthrop, pffttt…, according to her, Invigoration Draught has addictive properties. The woman has some fine ideas about certain aspects of potions, but she is utterly paranoid about side-effects and sees evil conspiracies everywhere. Don't get me started on her theory concerning the Pixies' World-Wide Expansion Plans.'

  


  
'The what?' I ask, baffled.

  


  
'Oh my mistake, no wonder you don't recognise it. I should have said: The Government Run Conspiracy of the Pixies' World-Wide Expansion Plans,' Voldemort lectures dryly. 'Yesssss, watch those dangerous Pixies go and multiply on my orders; the threat they pose to humanity is so hard to describe only the likes of Culthrop are able to formulate it.' And he starts snickering.

  


  
I shrug my shoulders, close the drawer, pocket the Amortentia parchment and move on. So, Culthrop had some weird ideas, but it doesn't mean she is wrong about Amortentia. I hope Morgan Le Fay did document what I need to find elsewhere. I don't like the fact that someone who is obviously so methodically in nature didn't write down everything there is to know about this Love Potion. It must be important to her if she felt the need to hide it.

  


  
'Are you sure you are not related to any Lovegoods or Culthrops?' Voldemort mocks.

  


  
But I plainly ignore him. He'll eat his words later, because I know I am right about this one.

  


  
'Not a chance in hell, Lovegood.' Voldemort laughs.

  


  
I shake my head and glance across the huge place. Where on earth do I need to start looking? I could spend my entire life here and not have seen everything. All this information, it's impressive to think one person did all this. So, I decide to walk around and get a sense to what else is here, maybe that will give me a clue to a possible location of the information I need.

  


  
'Yessss, that is why you want to look around here,' Voldemort says teasingly.

  


  
'Yes, it is,' I respond irritated. 'I have a specific reason to be here. I am not doing this, because I am curious about everything else; definitely not.' I reassure myself of the latter.

  


  
He snorts.

  


  
However, my attention is drawn to my left. Excited, I look in wonder at the underground greenhouse, which emits a sunlight glow when, all of the sudden, it starts raining inside. The plants seem to be doing fine, even though they must have been unattended for centuries. I wonder how she pulled that off, before I move on to the next work bench that seems to be dedicated to Runes. Stone tablets, she must have been working with, are lying spread out on the table. And Le Fay had an unusual manner in organising the rest, because they just hover in midair all around me. The next area contains nothing but a luxurious chair. I frown. What can that be about?

  


  
'Just try it,' Voldemort speaks up again.

  


  
'I thought you weren't going to assist me in my foolish endeavour,' I snicker.

  


  
'I am not. I have absolutely no interest in the concept of a silly Love Potion. However, that chair has nothing to do with that matter, so…'

  


  
'…I have no need to sit in it,' I teasingly add, but my curiosity wins.

  


  
So, I move toward it anyway and sit down. Immediately, the chair tilts backward and I shriek in surprise. It turns dark all around me and the entire chamber seems to vanish when stars begin to twinkle and moonlight starts shining. 'Astronomy section,' I mutter astonished.

  


  
'Brilliant, isn't it?' Voldemort comments. 'You can see the entire sky right here indoors if you want. No problems with clouds or other weather issues, and you can focus on the section you want to study, and even zoom in without the use of a telescope.'

  


  
'No way,' I think excited and say: 'Mars.'

  


  
The moonlight disappears and a red planet becomes visible in the centre of my eyesight. 'Wow.'

  


  
'Try southern hemisphere,' Voldemort suggests.

  


  
I do so, and it changes to that. I can see the sky here in the UK as if I am standing in Argentina. It's amazing. This is some piece of charms' work. I could sit here for an eternity, but I move out of the chair and continue to scout Morgan Le Fay's hideout. Without looking at it, I forcibly move myself past an obviously extensive Arithmancy section with pain in my heart. But I know if I take one look at it, someone will need to come with a serious crowbar to remove me from that particular place. And I did come here for another reason.

  


  
'Everon, elves, Amortentia,' I repeat it in my head like a mantra.

  


  
I glance over to the next cubicle and smirk condescendingly. Divination, no doubt, for I see crystal balls; tea supplies; Tarot cards; Astrology attributes, including statues of the twelve Zodiac signs; and a bunch of other rubbish.

  


  
'For someone who thinks Divination is a load of crap, you sure are placing a lot of value on the prediction that "Everon will rise",' Voldemort mocks.

  


  
'It's not just that prediction,' I rebut firmly. 'It's everything together, and this woman is at the heart of it all. I can feel it.'

  


  
'Going to turn into a Seer now, Granger?'

  


  
'Oh, shut up.'

  


  
A loud burst of annoying laughter is vocalised in my head next, but I pretend not to hear it and focus on my environment. A chamber with magical creatures is on my right, and I see an Occamy glaring at me, while coiling around its silvery eggs. A group of Doxies are flying through the centre of the place, while two Knarls are doing something I need to tilt my head for in order to understand how they accomplish _that_. A Billywig is bouncing against the magical wall repeatedly. And in the corner I see a couple of large yellow eyes on a brilliant green serpent with a scarlet plume on its head. I guess the walls protect the person walking behind it against the creatures inside very adequately, because that Basilisk's gaze should have killed me quite efficiently. Or maybe it's his presence inside of me that is keeping me safe? I shrug my shoulders. Still, it's astonishing how all those creatures live simultaneously in the same environment without, well, you know, killing and eating each other. I wonder how they get their meals, because I see two Murtlaps feasting on a pile of crustaceans.

  


  
I swiftly move past several other "chambers" before turning my head to the space on my left. There, I see a table turning into a chair, shifting into an umbrella before becoming an eagle; a cloud; lightning; fire; smoke; and then, it is a table again. It's obviously a place for studying Transfiguration. I stop in front of a blind wall. This appears to be the end of Morgan's hideout. But it can't be. Confused, I look back. What about the Dark Arts or Defence against it? I look at the wall again and push against it, but it is solid rock.

  


  
However, it knows magic. I move my hand against it and just feel. This is no ordinary wall. There must be a way through, but how? It stays silent inside of me and I growl.

  


  
'No need to make any suggestions here, darling,' I sarcastically sneer. 'Beware of the thought of Lord Voldemort, actually, helping a hand.'

  


  
'Yes, we can't possibly have that, can we?' is the amused response I get.

  


  
I scowl, and he grins. I just know he does.

  


  
So, I stare at the wall and rack my brain. There are like a zillion possibilities here. Trying them all will take me forever! It's when I remember Yoda's words: 'magic flows all around us'. Magic is inside everything. I need to focus on the magic of the wall; become one with it! That's it. It has to be.

  


  
'It took you long enough.'

  


  
I roll my eyes, before I focus on the wall. It's a little, nasty, dark wall; that one. I close my eyes and allow its magic to enter. When I notice it is fully consuming my body, I walk forward. Fortunately, the wall considers me dark enough and my movement doesn't result in a hard bump between my face and the wall in question. I open my eyes on the other side. My mouth falls ajar in astonishment; because it's one of the most luxurious chambers I have set foot in. This must be her private living room, separated from her workplace. And wow, was this woman fond of herself or what? I have never in my life seen so many mirrors.

  


  
But there is a small study area with books on my right and I walk toward it. 'Interesting collection,' I understate dryly, as my eyes scan the spines of some of the rarest and most dangerous Dark Arts volumes in existence.

  


  
My head turns to examine my whereabouts again. Besides all the comfort and luxury, I mainly notice the darkness. Dark magic fills up this very place. I decide to check out the two doors that are here first. The one with all the locks hides a disaster area. It is filled with spatters of blood, gore, bones, and all sorts of things I'd rather not identify. The smell coming from the room is so pervasively disgusting I close the door in a hurry. This must have been the spot where she tested her Dark Arts inventions. And I'd rather not think of what or who those chains on the walls were used on. I shiver and dread to open the other door, but I do it just the same. It shows a spiral staircase that leads up. When I reach the end of it, the view I am witnessing from the corridor is magnificent. I am glancing over the landscape from what must be inside the top of one of the large standing stones of Stonehenge.

  


  
There are two doors on either side of the corridor. One leads to a large bedroom, while the other was used to bath in. Both rooms are well lit due to the large magical windows, which let in the sunlight in full glory, while they must appear on the outside as pure stone surface. I walk to the nightstand and open the drawer. It contains underwear in even, colour coded stacks of anal retentive neatness. And yippee! Another mirror lies on said nightstand! One wouldn't want to miss seeing oneself for even a second. I snort condescendingly.

  


  
Still, this woman is so methodical and self-absorbed; everything just screams "I wrote my memoirs". I growl, because I have no idea where she could have hidden it when my eye falls on the pillow. Ginny hid the diary underneath hers.

  


  
'Oh please, Granger, that is a place for a child to hide something of importance.'

  


  
But when I pull back the pillow, I let out a shout in triumph. A red book lies underneath.

  


  
'Oh come on,' Voldemort hisses irritated. 'She actually hid it there of all places?'

  


  
'Didn't check this place?' I ask victoriously.

  


  
I feel his levels of irritation rise inside of me beyond belief, and I stick out my tongue to him. 'Let me guess you hid your sissy diary at a far better spot,' I mock.

  


  
'It was a journal, Granger, and it had a purpose.'

  


  
I snicker. 'Sure, dear, whatever.'

  


  
'But yes, if you must know, I hid my _journal_ far better.'

  


  
'Yeah, you gave it to Malfoy,' I state dryly as I grab the red book and flip through the well-filled leaves. 'What? No witty comeback from that one?' I ask teasingly when it remains quiet.

  


  
'Just read the damn book already, Granger, so I will know what is in it too.'

  


  
Snickering, I place the pillows on a nice pile, make myself comfortable on the soft bed and start reading her life-story and most importantly, her ambitions, which are – if I may say so – somewhat out there. Talk about someone in dire need of professional, psychological assistance. Merlin, what a nutcase. Her lifelong ambition is to raise and control the dark powers of the underworld. Even Hades himself wouldn't want to unleash that kind of force upon the earth.

  


  
'Oh goody, you are not alone,' I comment to Voldemort, and I read out loud mockingly. 'For once I achieved my goal I will be the greatest, most powerful sorceress in the world and my kind will rule the earth forever.'

  


  
With her kind she means the elves. Apparently, the rumours about her heritage were indeed true, because she goes on about how elves are greater than humans, since elves are the ones who brought magic into this world. Humans are nothing but filth, who desecrate the earth and should be exterminated. Gosh, sounds familiar. But perhaps in her case it was an original thought? Nah, bigotry has probably been around as long as there have been breathing and thinking creatures.

  


  
However, she makes an exception for one human: Merlin. She raves on and on about his powers and how they are exceptionally grand. Morgan thinks that through him she can gain access to the underworld's powers. So, she plots and schemes to turn him to her dark side in order for her to access his powers and take over, but Miss Morgan fails miserably. Merlin is not interested. Then, she tries to turn the wizard as mad as hell and almost succeeds. According to her diary, Merlin was on the verge of insanity and within her grasp when he vanished. To say that pissed her off would be the understatement of the year. I have now learnt some new, very creative, Elfish swearwords that I do not care to ever repeat.

  


  
Anyway, she searches the entire planet for the man and finds him with his magical counterpart Viviane. Le Fay instantly realises the opportunity this situation grants her. If Merlin were to swallow all their joined magic, his powers would grow exponentially and he would make her goal a reality, or so she thinks. It's then when her actions become even fouler. Creating deception and distrust between the two, she is able to drive a wedge between them. For years, Merlin imprisons Viviane with their joined magic and his powers do grow tremendously. So, Morgan tries and the vortex to the underworld opens for her as always. But Morgan is furious when she still can't access Merlin's magic. The darkness of the underworld is still beyond her reach and it won't come into this world.

  


  
It is due to the fact that Merlin has not let go of the Light Force of magic completely. So, she tries to turn him fully against Viviane and sets a trap so he will kill her. But despite the betrayal Merlin thinks Viviane has committed, he cannot kill her for he loves her. In her fury over the disappointment of another plan gone astray, Le Fay drops her cover completely and attacks him, determined to claim his magical powers. They both battle to near death without a victor. It's when Viviane seizes the opportunity of Merlin's weakened state to free herself from his oppressive grasp. Le Fay witnesses how Merlin – who has finally realised the true colours and motives of Morgan Le Fay – deliberately allows Viviane to use his own magic against him.

  


  
'You will never be able to use me against my love again. I will not raise darkness into this world for your pleasure,' Merlin, mentally, tells Le Fay in triumph, before Viviane Apparates them away to an unknown location.

  


  
Another set of colourful words take up the next five (!) pages of Morgan's diary. The kindest words she uses are weak, mumbling, old fool and lovesick puppy. She is utterly ferocious about love thwarting her plans for world domination. Knowing Merlin is now beyond her reach, she searches for another means to create a powerful, dark wizard or witch. Mordred, her sister's child, is her second hope, but the boy does not have the strength to pull it off. She needs true evil that has no boundaries to draw the powers of the underworld to the face of this earth. A twinge of apprehension begins to fall upon me when I read that. Oh no. I know someone who fits the bill to that and I can feel his excitement inside of me, while I read this doomsday scenario.

  


  
'I FOUND IT! THE SOLUTION! A POTION THAT WILL CREATE EVIL AT ITS PUREST FORM! MY TICKET TO VICTORY!'

  


  
Large capitals are written in her diary as she celebrates her victory of finding a way to create a demonic child. She imprisons several couples and waits. But miscarriage after miscarriage occurs. However, Morgan has no more patience and she continues her Dark Arts Acts more and more out in the open. It's the biggest mistake she makes, because in her next diary entry she rants about her own kind; the elves. How they are all fools who tried to imprison her; HER! The greatest elf of all! How they tried to stop her from achieving greatness for them, and how she had to flee to her hideout, which she built in Merlin's Stonehenge of all places. 'None of those idiots will ever think to look for me here!' she wrote smugly.

  


  
Knowing she won't be able to use her Elfin magic outside these walls again – for the other elves will find her if she does – she decides on another, more timely method to go about achieving her goals. She makes sure the recipe to her "Pure-Evil-Creating Potion" gets out in the world and she takes great delight in calling it a Love Potion, so people will see no harm in it. Amortentia is the name she gives it.

  


  
The rest of her diary entries all focus on getting even with those who thwarted and opposed her. Her race, the elves, is at the top of her list. Her hatred for them is so huge, she is desperate to no longer be one and through her advanced Transfiguration skills in combination with several ghastly potions and Dark Arts Charms, she succeeds in turning herself into a new enhanced person – as she calls it. Her last entry is filled with jubilation on how she finally found a method to get even with all the elves. She cursed them into a life of servitude for the remainder of time to come. _'Everon is mine!'_ It's the last sentence on the last page that is written upon and I close the diary in disgust and fear. This is it: judgement day.

  


  
_"For a decade Darkness will rule and Everon will rise. A choice must be made by the Founder of SPEW. She alone beholds the key to ultimate victory for one. Everon will rise."_

  


  
What key? I have no bloody key! And no bloody way can I allow Everon to rise if it means what I think it does.

  


  
'Perfect, all that power will be mine,' Voldemort says satisfied inside of me.

  


  
'Are you crazy?' I shout aggravated, flinging to my feet when the door flies open and his other more physical persona stands in the doorway furiously. I guess Jareth lost his attention. A tense silence that seems to last forever embeds the room as we stare at each other.

  


  
Slowly, he steps aside, opening the door wider and gesturing with his hand toward me. 'Let's go,' he orders coldly.

  


  
Determined, I fold my arms over each other. 'I am not done here yet.'

  


  
His eyes flash red and he swirls toward me. I jump back, but his fingers already lock around my arms and he pulls me against him. 'I told you to get your cute arse home, my dear,' he hisses. 'Now, it may surprise you, but I do have better things to occupy my time with than to go around scouting the world for your whereabouts.'

  


  
'I didn't require your company nor did I request it, so feel free to go and occupy your time with those better things,' I snarl back.

  


  
His eyes narrow and his grip on my arms tightens considerably. 'Perhaps I should not have granted you access to your magical abilities just yet?'

  


  
'Too late to regret it now,' I sneer.

  


  
'Privileges can always be taken away,' he replies barely louder than a whisper.

  


  
'Not likely,' I respond firmly, with a flicker of unease in my stomach. I better be right about this. A gasp escapes me as I feel his attack on my magic. 'Focus Granger, focus,' I think.

  


  
Closing my eyes, I concentrate on blocking him out. It takes all of my effort, but finally the pressure subsides and I look back at him, breathing heavily.

  


  
He, on the other hand, has the nerve to smirk at me casually. 'Impressive performance, little one,' he whispers in my ear; his breath sends shivers down my spine. 'However, I don't think you will hold up if I make contact with myself.'

  


  
And to demonstrate his resolve he dives inside of me and accesses himself. It feels as if my head is exploding; like I am bound in his body and he is in mine, and I can no longer see the difference between us. I scream in agony and throw my head backwards; only to look down at myself in his grasp. There is no escape from this pain. And then, it ends … all of the sudden … just like that.

  


  
My knees buckle and I fall, but Voldemort still has a firm hold of me and he lifts me up in his arms. I land on soft pillows and sheets as he lays me down on the bed and sits beside me. He flicks his wrist and Morgan's journal flies in his hand. He starts flipping the pages as I examine myself shakily. He didn't take my magic. I can still feel it flowing through my veins, but yet I have never felt so feeble and cold in my life. I look concerned at my trembling hands. What the hell happened? Well, I know what happened, but by Godric, does it have to make me feel like some stupid damsel in distress, who faints upon the mere thought of having the wrong colour scarf with her matching outfit?

  


  
A snort inside of me insures to remember I am not alone here, and I glare up in aggravation at the person responsible for that. He is staring at a page in the journal with a blank, emotionless expression before he slams it shut, dumps it on the nightstand, and looks at me in quite the opposite manner. The intensity of his dark eyes is overwhelming as he takes my trembling hands and casts a Heating Charm on me.

  


  
'Hamlet said something about … your endeavours,' he softly says as he cups my cheek. 'I am afraid I didn't believe him at the time, but it seems I was mistaken.'

  


  
'That wouldn't be a first,' I reply coldly.

  


  
He strokes my hair gently. 'Now, now, be a good doggy, Hermione. You wouldn't want to spoil my great mood.'

  


  
Why, that miserable, no good… I fling myself upward in resentment, only to be captured by his arms again. A devious twinkle runs through his eyes as he smirks down at me in triumph. 'You are truly and fully mine, my dear. There is no need to pretend otherwise.'

  


  
'Perhaps you should stop treating me like some possession and realise I am my own person.'

  


  
'Perhaps I would … if you would acknowledge your person belongs to me.'

  


  
I sigh. Does he even listen to what he says? Argh! Why do I even bother? I am never gonna… _'Oohhhh,'_ I moan, and I turn weak in his arms as he hits me with some nonverbal cast spell.

  


  
His grip tightens and he lifts me slightly to gain access to my mouth with his; an access, which is fully granted by me. Because YAY to his kisses. I wrap my arms around his neck as he lowers me slowly and I feel his weight coming down to rest on my body. Oh well, another YAY to that too. It doesn't take long before our clothes are gone and we are both engaged into a delicious activity. I can't even begin to wrap my mind about anything else but him. Not to mention that I do think it is safe to say this whole Horcrux business seems to have certain advantages. Oh Godric, yessss, definite advantages. And a low groan leaves my lips when Voldemort accesses himself inside of me to manipulate my body beyond my wildest dreams.

  


  
'See,' he whispers smugly, while he is driving me insane. 'Every cell of your body knows who its true master is.'

  


  
I groan in a combination of wantonness and annoyance.

  


  
'Hmmm… I don't think your owner approves of a response like that,' Voldemort states loosely.

  


  
He waves his hand over my eyes. The world starts spinning around me and I cling to him for support, while he rolls us over so that I am now on top. I feel I am totally losing the control of my body to his Horcrux, and as his magic targets my sensitive areas, my previously annoyed groan quickly turns into a scream of exhilaration and I am absolutely positive I will loose my mind as I tingle all over. He assaults my throat with his mouth and I can feel him smirk against my skin when I tilt my head to grant him better access.

  


  
'Much better, dearest,' he whispers, while his hands massage the back of my spine. 'You do know how to obey your superiors, don't you?'

  


  
Oh, sure, whatever. Just don't stop doing whatever it is you are doing.

  


  
A snicker vibrates against me and his fingers take a hold of the base of my skull, while I feel a sudden familiar pressure against one of my lower vertebrae. Oh fuck! I recognise the Sex Magic spell he has just cast on me by the desperate needy sensation it gives inside of me. Quickly, I try to fling as much of my naked body against him, but right before I do so, he has levitated me into the air and I am helplessly hanging there. Flustered, I stare at his calm and collective figure beneath me on the bed. He lazily places his hands behind his head, gives me a deviously relaxed smile and has the gall to wink at me, while I am practically burning up here. I need contact with him. So, I place my hands on his chest. His gaze intensifies when I stroke his skin gently.

  


  
'I did not give you permission to touch me, doll.'

  


  
I freeze up, my eyes widen and I shriek when I am suddenly tossed over in midair. My eyes are falling on the rocky surface of the ceiling, while I try to move my arms and legs to somehow catch a balance in this environment without any support. But I am not in control of anything anymore, he has immobilised me thoroughly. My limbs are hanging uselessly beside my body and the complete lack of any contact now is making me scream in desire, because what was a dull throbbing between my legs has become an antagonising painfully empty pounding inside of me. Oh God, I need him. I am dying here.

  


  
'I know you are, Hermione,' he smoothly states. 'It's how that charm operates.'

  


  
I notice he has risen from the bed and is now standing beside me with a smug smirk on his face. 'Please,' I beg, and I shudder when his hand caresses my perspiring torso teasingly.

  


  
'I got to say this is quite an interesting experience for me,' Voldemort continues matter-of-factly, while his hand is now tracing upward on the inside of my thigh. 'I've never felt the effects of this charm from the perspective of whom it is cast upon. It is most intriguing.' His hand squeezes me between my legs and I cry out, yearning for more.

  


  
He smirks again. 'Like I said, intriguing,' he exclaims, satisfied.

  


  
'Please, lower me,' I whisper, because this unnatural floating posture is freaking me out.

  


  
He takes a hold of my head with both hands and gazes down at me. 'Don't you like the idea of having sex in midair, my dear, or is it the feeling of helplessness that is terrifying you? Because I got to say I do love seeing you completely at my mercy.'

  


  
He laughs as he whirls me around effortlessly, spreads my legs and blows his breath against my core. I want to buck toward him, but I have no support, so I can't move anywhere, and I keep hanging feebly and motionlessly there, while my need for him intensifies.

  


  
'And the access your current position is granting me is also quite convenient,' he adds mischievously.

  


  
His mouth attacks the tender flesh between my legs, making me shiver relentlessly, while every sensory nerve in my body overloads. I trash and yell out his name as his tongue flicks over my clit and investigates the inside of my vagina. 'Yesss, right there. Oh fuck.'

  


  
For what feels like an eternity, he drives me absolute nuts with his ministrations. His hands roam over my body before he grabs a firm hold of my hips, pushes me down and impales me roughly. I gasp when I feel my muscles clench around him and he hits that sensitive spot inside. Finally.

  


  
'Wrap your legs around me, Hermione, I don't want to do all the work,' he breathes out after he has moved me back and forth over his cock a couple of times on his own.

  


  
He doesn't have to say it twice. I quickly do so in order to pull him in further. We move in sync as he pushes my hips away with his hands and I drag myself back toward him with my legs. Despite the fact that I am finally getting some relief of the burning tension that was building up inside of me, I still feel somewhat uneasy due to my hovering position. I am kind of concerned what will happen when he climaxes and loses control of himself and his magic. I'd rather not plummet to the ground, head first. Considering I still have no control over my upper body, I can just see it happening. Stars dwindle in front of my eyes after another well aimed stroke and I can feel the onset of my orgasm.

  


  
'Please, _ohhhhh…_ , please lower me,' I breathe out in between moans and delicious sensations.

  


  
It seems to occur to Voldemort as well why I desire this. However, instead of lowering me, he swings me upwards and allows me control of my arms again. Swiftly, I grab a hold of him around his shoulders and my forehead rests against his as we stand there motionless and panting in our embrace for a second.

  


  
'Your appalling lack of trust in my magical abilities sounds to me like an assumption Lord Voldemort would feel the need to prove incorrect immediately, wouldn't you agree Hermione?'

  


  
I hold my breath and watch that darn twinkle dart through his eyes, concerned. Oh no. I shriek and grab a tight hold of him with my arms and legs when he swirls us both up in the air as I feared and positions us to hover horizontally. Great, terrific, I should have known.

  


  
'Do you have to make a point of everything?' I ask, exasperated.

  


  
'Of course, don't you know me by now? But look on the bright side,' he responds teasingly, 'if you are right and I lose control, at least _I_ will land softly.'

  


  
'Oh, that is really – really funny.'

  


  
'It is, isn't it?' he says snickering. 'Hold on,' he adds, and he lets go of my hips.

  


  
'What are you doing?' I panic, while tightening my side of the embrace to the best of my abilities, which is hard I tell you, because we are both perspiring rather severely and that makes it all rather slippery with not much to hold onto.

  


  
'I am going to kiss you,' he answers casually, as his left arm wraps around my waist and his other hand takes a hold of my head to pull me into an all consuming kiss.

  


  
I am about to protest indignantly that I can't possibly hold on for much longer when I realise my body is really hovering and has no gravitational pull whatsoever, so I don't need to carry my weight.

  


  
'I was wondering how long it would take you to realise that,' Voldemort replies inside my mind. 'But I do appreciate how you are pressing your body against me. It feels rather nice when you pull me so strongly inside of you, especially since your fear makes you even tighter.'

  


  
In a reflex I loosen my legs somewhat and exit him fully. But my Sex-Charm-affected body is in total disagreement of my move there, and in another reflex, I re-establish my previous position around the same time as Voldemort uses his magic to trust inside of me again. The impact of both our moves is tremendously.

  


  
'Ohhh…,' I moan and my head swirls backward, while I feel his fingers dig deep into my skin.

  


  
'Yessss,' he groans.

  


  
'Worthy of repeating,' I think ecstatically.

  


  
From the movements that follow, it is clear I wasn't the only one thinking that. Soon, his scent - his every being is intoxicating me thoroughly, and as we exercise in midair feverishly, I totally forget about all my previous protests against this position. Well, who would remember when someone is treating their body to this much excellent attention and care with furore? It's almost like we are merging into one being during our sexual intercourse. My heart is racing, it's contracting almost painfully inside my chest; my breaths are shallow and rapid; my body starts shaking; and I scream his name as I cling to him firmly upon my climax.

  


  
It's when it happens…

  


  
We crash-land on the bed, because Mr I-Am-Soooo-In-Control lost it. I giggle insanely underneath him, until he lifts his upper body and looks me straight into my eyes – with a huge smug grin on his face. 'Aren't you going to thank me for moving us above the bed?' he asks unabashed.

  


  
I snort. 'Thank you for prmm…'

  


  
His excellent kiss smothers the rest of my response and I let the matter slide, because really … I have far more pressing matters; matters such as cuddling up against this delicious man. He strokes through my hair and kisses me on my forehead before moving his body down next to me. So, I end up lying beside him utterly content, while my heartbeat slows down again and my breaths are finally returning to normal.

  


  
'That was…,' I halt, '…unbelievable,' I finish, looking sideways into his dark eyes.

  


  
A mischievous twinkle runs through them as he takes a hold of me again and pulls me on my side to face him. 'Enjoyed yourself that much, my dear?'

  


  
'Absolutely,' I respond nodding. 'I wouldn't mind seconds either.'

  


  
'And what's in it for me then?' he asks smirking.

  


  
I shrug my shoulders casually. 'No idea,' I reply, cocking my head. 'What would you want?'

  


  
'Now, I'd have to think about that,' he says, gazing at me intensely.

  


  
My breath falters and my heart skips a beat, because his eyes are intoxicating. When he catches your attention, you can't look away. You just want to drown into those pitch-black pools of his, forever. I feel his arms pulling me close. An overwhelming emotion of security flows through me and I smile at him. I don't think there is a single thing I wouldn't do for this man. I stroke his chest and my head moves to kiss him there. I love being in his arms. I never want to be anywhere else. His hand strokes through my hair. I like it when he does that. He makes me feel wanted and taken care of when he does that. I like being taken care of for a change, instead of doing all the work. I snuggle up against him. I really truly love this man. He is amazing.

  


  
'Surrender to me,' a genteel voice rings in the back of my head.

  


  
I adore that voice. It makes me feel safe and whole. I want to listen to it. A kiss is placed on top of my head. 'Surrender to me, Hermione,' the voice repeats. 'I'll protect you. You will never have to worry about anything ever again.'

  


  
That would be nice. I have so much to worry about; though, for the life of me, I can't quite remember what it was.

  


  
'It doesn't matter, my dear, I've got you. You will always be mine.'

  


  
I like that.

  


  
'I know you do.'

  


  
I look up straight into Lord Voldemort's eyes. I am mesmerised by them. I want to feel that intense gaze on me for eternity. I want to be in his care.

  


  
'Then, come to me,' he orders, and I feel a sudden pressure in my mind. 'Come to me, Hermione.'

  


  
Yes, I will. And I feel the pressure increasing.

  


  
'Let yourself go, sweetheart, just open your mind to me and let me take over.'

  


  
A string of doubt forms inside of me, and a sudden apprehension befalls on me. I don't like it, so I try to push him away. But he tightens his grip. 'Let go,' I demand, trying to push harder against his chest, but my arms seem to malfunction.

  


  
'Never,' Lord Voldemort responds surely, 'you will succumb to me now, Hermione; I can sense you want to.'

  


  
'Let me go,' I repeat fearfully, because the part of me that wants to listen to him frightens me more than anything else in the world.

  


  
'No, Hermione, you don't want me to let go. I am inside of you and I know what you really want. You are tired of fighting. You are tired of having to take responsibility over everything and everyone all the time. You are sick of having to be the sensible, mature one when you want to be the one who is dominated; who is taken care of. You want peace of mind and I can give you just that.'

  


  
A possessive kiss smothers my denial, and he rolls on top of me. 'Now, be a good girl, stop this ridiculous fighting, and listen to your master,' he snarls and his eyes flash red upon his words.

  


  
I feel the core of my sex jumping in excitement as he pushes my legs apart and presses his pelvis against mine. 'Listen to your needs,' he adds smoothly and he places his hand on my chest. 'Feel how your heart beats only for me. Allow me to hold it, to control it, to take possession of you, my dear.'

  


  
Oh gosh, this attitude of him is turning me on significantly. And he knows it. I can see it in his eyes; they have a tremendously predatory, red glint in them. Like he wants to eat me whole. He probably does.

  


  
'Indeed, I do,' he whispers, sucking and kissing on my neck. 'I want to know every part of you, Hermione. I want access to that magnificent mind of yours. Surrender it, and you will not regret it.'

  


  
I look at him in despair. I am not sure why I am feeling it. I think it is because I know he is right. I want him to be in charge of me. But I also know I can't allow it to happen and it is tearing me apart. I feel tears starting to form in my eyes, and he wipes them away with a caring expression on his face. 'Don't fight who you are, Hermione; you will only hurt yourself in the long run if you do.'

  


  
'I can't,' I breathe desperately, 'please stop. Don't ask this of me.'

  


  
'But you want this, darling; and I am not asking, I am telling you to surrender.'

  


  
'I can't,' I whisper, turning my head away. 'I just can't. There is too much at stake.'

  


  
In utter silence he places a kiss on top of my head. 'You are more mine already than you know, Hermione.' He rolls to the side and abandons the bed. A casual flick of his wand cleans us up and dresses us.

  


  
'I never denied that,' I whisper in response, and I look up more firmly. 'But do you have to be a controlling arse about it?'

  


  
'I am who I am, darling. I will not change.'

  


  
'I never asked you to change!' I holler and I swirl from the bed also. 'You are the one who is demanding changes. Why can't you just trust someone to not stab you in the back for once?'

  


  
He blinks, and I advance on him, pricking him in the chest with my index finger to emphasise my very important point. 'You can deny it all you want, but I know you know I was there. You conjured the painting and the dog; you made me your Patronus all by your lonely self. So just stop this stupid charade and get over yourself. You don't even want me to surrender. It would bore you to tears if I did.'

  


  
'Don't presume to think you even have the slightest grasp of the inner workings of a mind far superior to yours, Granger. It's your foolish resistance that is boring me.'

  


  
'Funny how you conveniently skip over the dog issue now,' I sneer.

  


  
'I am not skipping over the Patronus. I have decided to ignore it as I do with everything that has no relevance to me.' He grabs my chin harshly and redness is taking over his eyes as he glares down at me. 'Get it into that thick Mudblood mind of yours very fast that Lord Voldemort does not need nor cares for anyone. Now, we are leaving.' And he swirls away, slamming the door into the wall roughly.

  


  
'Liar,' I mutter softly to the empty room.

  


  
A small cough reminds me I am still not alone in that empty room.

  


  
'What?' I ask tauntingly. 'Does the scared, little snaky needs his cute, fluffy doggy now to hold onto? Maybe I can pretend to waggle a tail? Might that help you to grow up and admit to something?'

  


  
'Excuse me?'

  


  
I laugh. 'You are so pathetically transparent it's rather entertaining. I should start a poll, but then again, the odds… the odds…' And I roar with laughter.

  


  
'Have you lost it completely, Granger?'

  


  
'Yes, dear, I am the one, who is losing it,' I mock, while pacing to the nightstand and pocketing the journal. The mirror that lies there shines my reflection back at me and I halt to watch the Amulet of Aine; made in Everon at Yoda's request. It makes no sense, no sense at all. I pull at the necklace and watch the emerald stone as I move back to the door. _'Everon is mine.'_ Well, we'll just see about that.

  


  
I race down the stairs, because I may not be able to comprehend the Amulet fully without Yoda or Maglor's explanation, but I do know one thing. Le Fay created Amortentia and it is supposed to be some ticket to victory. So if I find a method of neutralising it, we might be able to shift the outcome in our advantage.

  


  
'I think it is already working in my advantage,' Voldemort says smoothly.

  


  
I turn to his physical persona that stands beside the door at the end of the stairs furiously. 'Stay the hell in your own mind,' I hiss.

  


  
'We are leaving, darling. I have no need to waste my time on researching the effects of a silly potion.'

  


  
I pull the red journal from my pocket and toss it at him. 'Maybe you weren't paying attention when you reconnected with yourself, but that silly potion was made for a reason and as long as we are not sure how things are going to turn out, it may be wise to look for a method to neutralise its effects in case it is not beneficiary to your ridiculous goals.'

  


  
Angrily, I stamp away through the nasty, dark wall before he can reply, so I never notice the smirk on his face that accompanies my statement. Quickly, I move back to the Potions section and open the drawer marked _A_ again. It has to be there. The woman was obviously as brilliant as she was mad and she was known for her extraordinary healing capabilities. She must have created a general one. The one potion every Potions Master wants to invent. She must have done it. I almost shriek in triumph when I find it.

  


  
'And just how were you planning to neutralise a potion you know nothing more of than how to brew it?' Voldemort asks behind me.

  


  
I pull a couple of joined parchments and push them under his nose, while I move to the ingredients cabinet smugly.

  


  
'Antidote Potion?' Voldemort says, glancing at me somewhat pitifully. 'Do you really think it will be that simple?'

  


  
I turn around with several ingredients in my arm and dump them on the worktable. 'Yes, it is exactly what I think,' I say haughtily, 'it's precisely the kind of … _simple_ solution a brilliant mind like Le Fay would overlook, because it is too obvious to even acknowledge the possibility of it spoiling her plans.' I snatch the parchments back from him and glance at the rest of the long list of ingredients before I gather them too and light the cauldron, for preheating as ordered. 'Besides,' I say over my shoulder as I pull a vial of Amortentia from a shelf, 'it's not like this general Antidote Potion is an easy potion to brew.'

  


  
There is no response to my rightful statement, naturally. Whenever I am right, he turns silent. I smirk in triumph, while I dump the Glühwein and the Amortentia in the cauldron and turn the heat of the flame to half its size as ordered. I reread the entire recipe a couple of times and place it beside the cauldron, while I pick a silver knife to start cutting the ingredients that need to be added next. And while I am busy chopping gillyweed, guess who has conjured himself a chair and sat down in it? Yeah, that's right; have a cookie. Irritated, I look in his direction from the corner of my eye; lazy bugger. So, I chop a bit harder than absolutely necessary, which causes an even more annoying snicker to reach my eardrums. I swirl around.

  


  
'You know it wouldn't hurt you if you picked up a knife yourself and chopped either the pinewood, charcoal, or the Amanita Phalloides; from all three I need rather large quantities in perfectly even cubicles,' I snarl, while waving with my silver knife in his direction.

  


  
An amused glance is cast in my direction and a very well executed Slytherin smirk graces his snakelike features. Oh why do I even bother? I growl and am about to turn back to my gillyweed when I see his hand move in my direction, and I freeze up as a dash of red charges past my body so close by, a hair couldn't fit between it and me. However, it impacts on the potions ingredients instead and … decimates them. I glance at the cubicles of pinewood, charcoal and Amanita, which are cut to perfection. I doubt there is even a thou difference between them all.

  


  
'Show off,' I grumble, while turning around and stabbing the gillyweed harshly.

  


  
Rather loud laughter sounds behind me AND inside of me. Can you say annoying? Because I surely can. Fortunately, there is a lot of gillyweed that I can vent my emotions on, because otherwise… who knows? He is lucky I've had a lot of practise brewing potions around aggravating and distracting Slytherins, so I am able to focus my attention back on the complicated potion.

  


  
The list of ingredients is huge and the directions to brew it are almost five pages long. I stir the now boiling Glühwein three times clockwise and add the gillyweed, stir three times anti clockwise, add half the pinewood while simultaneously stirring in an eight, twice, and add the Amanita Phalloides in precisely two-and-a-half minutes, while stirring back and forth. The charcoal is next. I continue with the instructions, and soon, I am perspiring from the steam that is swirling from the cauldron and the concentration that is needed to make the potion correctly. So far I made it to page three of Le Fay's directions without any problems when I read: _'Before adding three drops of Acromentula Venom make sure your Potion is now midnight blue.'_

  


  
I glance at my cauldron, while filling a pipette with Acromentula Venom and holding it above my potion. Well … I suppose that colour could be…? I scratch my head and wish I had an example. It's definitely dark. But would this be dark enough, or too dark and not blue enough, or too blue and not da…? A shriek of shock leaves my lips and I almost dump the entire contents of the pipette into the potion when Voldemort takes a hold of my waist and pulls me against him.

  


  
'What are you doing? You almost made mmmme…'

  


  
But I never get to finish my sentence; because he pulls my head back by my hair and presses his lips on mine. Immediately, his tongue is demanding entry, but I am struggling to get loose, because I really need to add those three drops. What if the potion gets ruined if it's not added promptly? His grip on my hair tightens and a little warning pull at it makes me open my mouth to comply with his wishes. As his tongue roams my mouth, his hand falls on mine and he guides me to place the pipette back on the table. My eyes flutter shut and, leaning against him with my back, I surrender myself into his arms; into his care. Because, by Godric, when that man kisses you, even an angel would forget about getting her wings; and I am no angel.

  


  
Next, he brushes me with his magic and I am glad he has me pinned down between his body and the half-circular table, because I don't think my knees would be able to keep me upright anymore. Every bit of tension inside my muscles, which has been building up during the brewing of the potion, slowly diminishes and a deep, thorough sense of relaxation flows through me. It feels really, really nice and I want to feel like this forever. So I whimper when his mouth abandons mine. My eyes fly open in longing for more, and a smug smile combined with his intense gaze is what greets me. Long, soft and gentle fingers are caressing my face and for a moment I close my eyes again to enjoy the way my skin feels underneath his touch.

  


  
'You rationalise too much,' Voldemort softly says.

  


  
'What?' I ask dumbfounded, and my eyes fly open again.

  


  
'You've read the instructions to that potion so many times that you must have memorised it entirely by now, and still you keep checking the parchment over and over again.'

  


  
'So? I don't want to error.'

  


  
'And your fear of failure is what is holding you back.'

  


  
I sputter something incomprehensible back in resentment. Because really, this is a very difficult potion and it is only common sense to… 'EH!' I shout in disbelief and outrage when Voldemort sets fire to Le Fay's parchments.

  


  
I reach out to make an attempt to salvage it, but he grabs both my wrists and stops me. 'Trust me, Hermione,' he whispers into my ear.

  


  
Oh for crying out loud, I still had two whole pages to go! Why does he always have to make everything difficult?

  


  
'I absolutely despise easy,' Voldemort responds inside of me, snickering. 'Besides, I don't think Acromentula Venom is a good idea to add to this particular antidote you're trying to create.'

  


  
'It said so in the recipe,' I bristle.

  


  
'Oh, then it must be right; anal retentive follower of the letter of the text,' he teases.

  


  
'EH!'

  


  
'Granger, really, your desire to stick precisely to the writings of others is what's holding you back from achieving greatness. Think about what you're trying to do instead of just following the given texts blindly.'

  


  
I frown. I do remember my sixth year when Harry suddenly had far better grades in Potions than me, because my stubbornness refused me to divert from the official guidelines. However, that was all Professor Snape's fault for not making sure the official textbook was corrected ages ago.

  


  
'I am sure Severus was absolutely horrified when he realised he enhanced Potter's grades,' Voldemort states, amused. 'Now, can we focus on this potion again? Unless, of course, you are planning to poison me, in which case I'd advise to take the far quicker route of …'

  


  
I hit my head upon the table. 'You burned the recipe,' I say tiresomely. 'I did not memorise those two last pages and…'

  


  
'Doesn't matter; they were useless anyway. Come on, Hermione; use that brilliant mind of yours for a change. Think about Acromentula Venom and what it will do to…'

  


  
'Oh.' I slam my hand in front of my mouth. I forgot about an ingredient of Amortentia. 'Ashwinder eggs,' I mutter in a small voice. 'Oops.'

  


  
'Yes, oops,' Voldemort repeats dryly, 'it's a rather explosive combination with that particular venom, don't you think?'

  


  
I look at the boiling midnight blue potion, disappointed. Well, that's one plan scuppered. There is no way I can create that general Antidote Potion to work for Amortentia without blowing myself to Kingdom Come.

  


  
'So, it seems Le Fay's brilliant mind did consider this _simple_ solution and was probably hoping someone would try it,' he sneers.

  


  
Angrily, I try to turn around, but he still has me pinned to the table quite effectively. 'You've realised this from the start, haven't you?' I hiss. 'Couldn't you have said something before I spent…,' I check the time, 'three bleeding hours on it!'

  


  
'Why, happy birthday, Hermione,' he whispers, kissing me on my cheek.

  


  
'Funny,' I mutter, while I look back at the clock confused. It's just after midnight. Is it really the nineteenth already? Time surely flies when you're having fun. I roll my eyes. 'You know normal people don't let another work on a useless endeavour for hours as a birthday present,' I sneer at him.

  


  
'Excellent point; fortunately, it's hardly proven that this has been a useless endeavour yet, and … I do have this.'

  


  
A small, rectangular box is placed in front of me on the table. I blink and then stare at it dumbfounded. He got me a gift?

  


  
'Aren't you going to open it?' he whispers in my ear mischievously.

  


  
'Well, now I am suddenly undecided whether it is safe to do so.'

  


  
'I stopped you from blowing yourself up.'

  


  
'You mean you prevented yourself from being blown to smithereens.'

  


  
'Well, there is that too,' he muses. 'It must not be that dangerous then, considering my proximity to you at the moment.'

  


  
'Perhaps the threat is gender specific,' I suggest.

  


  
'Perhaps…,' he repeats amused, moving my hair to one side so my neck is laid bare before him and he takes the Amulet in his hand. 'But then again, we are both immortal at the moment, so let's not get overly worried.'

  


  
Feather light kisses are distracting me tremendously, while I open the box and see a solid stick of vine wood. I raise my eyebrows in surprise. He can't possibly be giving me my wand back.

  


  
'Like it?' Voldemort whispers in between kissing my neck.

  


  
That man is just one big barrel of contradictions! 'You just threatened to take my magic from me a few hours ago,' I remind him, stunned.

  


  
'Well, if you don't want it back…' And he reaches for the box.

  


  
Quickly, I snatch my wand away. 'No. I mean yes. I mean… thank you,' I whisper, tilting my head slightly in order to kiss him on the lips. He doesn't need any more incentive.

  


  
When we finally break for air, he smiles at me. 'So, how do you solve the Acromentula Venom problem?'

  


  
'With a Bezoar!' I shout excited and I Accio one with my wand from the storage. 'The Bezoar will render the venom harmless, but only temporarily considering the potency of Acromentula Venom. However, it may just be long enough to make sure it has reacted with the other ingredients before coming into contact with the Ashwinder compounds of Amortentia.'

  


  
'If you're wrong, we are going to turn into very, very small bits and pieces.'

  


  
'Why, and I thought it was I, who was afraid of failure,' I snicker as I toss a slice of the Bezoar into the pipette, which contains the Acromentula Venom.

  


  
'It's not failure that I fear, my dear; it's something infinitely worse.'

  


  
'Well, considering we are both supposedly immortal…' I shrug.

  


  
'That's placing an awful lot of trust into that Elfin trinket's powers we have yet to confirm,' Voldemort replies cautiously.

  


  
I lift the pipette, while looking him in the eye. 'I am sure you would be safe behind those enchanted walls of Le Fay's.'

  


  
'I don't doubt it,' he says calmly, while wrapping his arms around my waist and holding me tightly.

  


  
'Are you sure you wore the real Sorting Hat?' I sass, mocking his Gryffindoric attitude.

  


  
And I add three drops of the venom into the potion, closing my eyes tightly and cringing together a bit. When nothing happens, I carefully peek at the potion with one eye. 'AH! It worked!' I cheer triumphantly and somewhat relieved. I like my limbs attached to my body, thank you very much.

  


  
Voldemort leans over my shoulder to look into the cauldron more diligently. 'Hmmm… it seems you are cor… Protego Horribilis!'

  


  
An enormous bang sounds and the force of the explosion throws us into the magical wall. The power of the ward definitely is sufficient, because it doesn't even blink a bit upon the pounding it receives. As we crash to the floor with Voldemort's Shield Charm still surrounding us, there remains nothing left of the once proud and exemplarily Potions lab.

  


  
'When you do fuck up, you sure do it exceptionally well,' Voldemort mumbles underneath me.

  


  
I feel my cheeks flush and for once I have no good comeback, while Voldemort pushes us both into a more seated position. I destroyed an ancient Potions lab, a historic site. Blimey.

  


  
I blink when a mouse darts around my head. I've seen stars before, but never mice. So, I must have hit my head unnoticeably during that blast or I need to have my eyes checked, because I am seeing flying mice in a Po… former Potions lab. Flying silvery mice! While my mind starts to function again, Voldemort accepts the Patronus' message. I'll eat Merlin's hat if I could just figure out how he has achieved this, because I am right here, sitting on the floor beside him, and I can't hear a thing, not one measly syllable of that message.

  


  
'We have to go,' Voldemort says, getting to his feet and pulling me along with him.

  


  
'Why; whereto?'

  


  
'Brazil,' he shortly states.

  


  
Everon! 'No wait, we are not…'

  


  
Crack!

  


  
He has spun us around the spot and Apparated us both there. 'Thought I might be able to go through her wards with our combined magic,' Voldemort notes smugly.

  


  
His smugness just makes me want to finish my previously started sentence. 'We are not ready for this,' I hiss infuriated.

  


  
'I am always ready and I always win,' Voldemort responds haughtily. He swirls around to take in the environment.

  


  
So, I decide to do the same, all the while shaking my head over this stupid arrogant act of his. We are standing dead centre in a field surrounded by trees. Sloan and a couple of people are standing several feet away. It's obvious they must be locals, considering the look of terror on their faces clearly indicates they have never seen the Dark Lord in person before. In the nearby distance, the gates of Everon shine. Liam Sloan moves toward the Dark Lord and nods his head politely. 'My Lord, you wanted to know if anything concerning Everon altered in the last couple of weeks.'

  


  
'Yes, I remember what I told you to find out, Liam. Stop wasting my time and tell me what happened.'

  


  
'According to these people, there have been tremors of the earth followed by brief moments of dark lightning.'

  


  
'And the walls have risen,' a little boy squeaks, before his father claps his hand around the child's mouth fearfully.

  


  
'What is that?' the Dark Lord asks abruptly.

  


  
'My son is often imagining things, my Lord,' the man replies with his head down.

  


  
I see the boy is making an attempt to shake no, while his head is still in his father's grasp, and I am sure it is not escaping Voldemort's attention either. I am right.

  


  
'Remove that hand; I'd like to hear what your son has to say,' Voldemort orders coldly.

  


  
'The walls of Everon are higher than before,' the boy immediately says as his father's hand has barely left his lips. 'They used to come only to the third thick branch of the old oak tree over there, and now, the top is just as high as the fifth branch; see?' And he points excitedly in the direction of the oak; he seems happy to finally be able to share his knowledge.

  


  
Everyone, including me, looks at the ancient tree. The boy is right. The Everon wall reaches up to the fifth branch. I look at the difference in height between the third and the fifth branch. It's not a big elevation, but just the kind of thing only a child would notice. Voldemort seems to come to the same conclusion, because he nods his head. 'Well, uhm…?' and he looks questioningly at the boy.

  


  
'Marhino,' the boy responds.

  


  
'It is very observant of you to notice this, Marhino,' he praises the boy. 'You obviously are a great wizard to see what no one else did.'

  


  
I close my eyes and sigh inwardly, recognising the smooth manipulation to elicit more information from Marhino expediently. The Dark Lord's charm doesn't fail him, not even with these looks, because Marhino practically glows with pride and opens his mouth again. 'They say that when the walls rise, the Elf Queen will return to rule the earth.'

  


  
'Do they?' Voldemort responds interested.

  


  
I frown, while parts of the monk's prophecy resonate in my head. _Everon will rise. Victory for one._

  


  
'My Lord,' the father replies daringly; he now obviously fears for his son's safety. 'Marhino loves stories; he has always wanted them to be real. He has yet to learn the difference between fairytales and reality. It's just an old story that has been told around here for generations. Marhino has a vivid imagination and...'

  


  
'I find that having a vivid imagination is the key to new discoveries and success,' Voldemort interrupts quietly, and he winks at Marhino. 'And old legends usually have some bits and pieces of truth in it.' He strolls past them and looks at the gates of the Elfin Kingdom. 'Anything else you can tell me, Marhino?' he asks, while sending a warning glance to the father not to interfere anymore.

  


  
Marhino shakes his head, disappointed. Voldemort moves away, so I smile at the boy and his father and make a small gesture with my hands at them to back down. The father gets my drift and pulls his son with him back into the little group of people. No need for them to draw anymore attention to themselves; it can only end badly. A murmur runs through the people and some of them are pointing to the sky behind me in fear. I see Sloan step forward curiously in the peripheral vision of my eyes. So, I turn around too and see how - behind Lord Voldemort's body - a large plum of fire hits the sky from somewhere in the centre of the forest of Everon. A crack; and Jareth Apparates in on the edge of the clearing. Voldemort's head briefly turns in the direction of the Knight, but he dismisses Jareth's presence by refocusing his attention back on Everon.

  


  
I, however, look with concern at Jareth's serious expression, and our eyes lock. 'It's up to you now, Hermione,' Jareth's voice sounds in my head.

  


  
I bite my lip and look around. The locals have already fled the scene, which would probably be the sanest thing to do, I gather. Because the fire is now blackening the sky; dark thunderclouds culminate around it, and then, the fire dies out suddenly. But the thunderstorm is already spreading sideways in every direction, roaring and bellowing in ever expanding power. A lightning bolt strikes a solemn tree in the middle of the clearing. And I stare at the smouldering tree in a strange form of recognition. I've seen this before. I've been here before. I've failed here before.

  


  
Another flash electrifies the air around us, making my skin crawl. It's not a normal storm for I feel its evil origin. This is not Mother Nature wielding her powers. Fear strikes my heart when I recall this storm felt exactly the same in my dreams, in my nightmare. This storm of darkness is no stranger to me. My eyes fall on Lord Voldemort. This is the same storm that struck him down, while I considered him to be somebody else. I thought he was Harry. Quickly, I move toward him and grab his hand. Not this time. I am not letting go this time.

  


  
Lord Voldemort looks down on me and frowns, but he is not withdrawing his hand. He just gazes at me and I tighten my grip. I can't let go. I can't. Disaster will be upon us if I do.

  


  
'My Lord!' Sloan shouts and he points at the gates. A dash of red from Jareth smashes in his chest and tosses him through the air out of the clearing where Sloan crash-lands in the bushes.

  


  
I feel Voldemort turn to Jareth, probably to curse him into the next life, but I see what Sloan meant. The chains around the gates are gone, and behind it stand an army of elves. 'No,' I whisper and pull at Voldemort's arm to get his attention to the real threat at hand, 'look.'

  


  
His eyes follow my outstretched hand when lightning strikes the gates, causing the pointed tips to light a fire, which burns into the ground. Within seconds, it spreads to form a full circle around us at the very edges of the clearing. I swirl around, letting go of Voldemort's hand, but I can see nothing beyond the fire that quickly forms a dome around the both of us. I can't even see Jareth anymore. I cast a spell at the dome of fire. But my spell doesn't penetrate through it at all; it merely extinguishes on impact.

  


  
'Interesting shielding,' Voldemort says casually, like it doesn't concern him the slightest.

  


  
And I look at him in astonishment. 'Interesting? Interesting!' I start to roar.

  


  
A high, piercing shriek permeates the air and I cringe. The gates of Everon burst open. A cloud of blackness swarms into the clearing and I cover my head. The flapping of wings is all I hear next as ravens fill the air before one of them glides down and, as it lands, it transfigures into a dark-haired, skinny, white-faced woman wearing a blood-red cloak, which beholds the pentagon star symbol of Morgan Le Fay on the back. Her green, olive-shaped eyes and somewhat pointed ears are the only reminder of her Elfin heritage as she moves and turns around to stretch her otherwise human appearing body and neck.

  


  
'The air of the earth,' she says satisfied. 'It reeks so much better than that dustbin called Everon. Wouldn't you agree, Maglor?' And her rather unpleasant laugh fills the air.

  


  
Surprised, I look around the woman and I see a lonesome, male elf standing just outside the gates with a solemn, blank expression on his face. He is not responding to the taunting rhetorical question, but he folds his arms over each other and just watches as the woman turns away from him with a scathing look. Where did the other elves go?

  


  
'So,' she says contemplatively, looking Lord Voldemort up and down with a mocking grin, 'you must be the answer to my dreams come true.' She closes her eyes and inhales deeply. 'Oh yes, so much power … it will do nicely.'

  


  
'I was just thinking something along the same line, Miss … Le Fay,' Voldemort replies smoothly, and I notice him moving sideways in a deceptive casual manner.

  


  
'And clever too,' she muses. 'But I do prefer Morgana. Miss is far too formal between family, isn't that right? After all, in a sense I am your creator,' Morgana smiles. 'However, I'd keep that wand in my pocket if I were you, dear boy; I doubt you are fast enough.'

  


  
Before anyone is able to respond loud pops sound all around us and Le Fay roars with laughter when House-elves appear everywhere through the fire. 'Look what the cat dragged in,' she mocks.

  


  
Kreacher steps forward with narrowed eyes. 'You will fail today and I will be pleased to ram this on your head,' he croaks, while waving a pan around.

  


  
'Oh I am _soooo_ scared now. What are you going to do? Mop the floor with me? Use your ancient knowledge on dust removal to clean me up,' she mocks, spreading her arms out wide. 'I'll tell you what, Kreacher. Why don't you go, be a good little servant, and cook something. Then I might – perhaps – forget you were here, once I gain absolute power,' Morgana hisses viciously. 'Because we all know you lot can't touch a single hair of me in your measly condition now.'

  


  
'When Mistress Hermione eliminates your hold, you'd better be prepared to run hard and fast, because we have been waiting thousands of years for our revenge,' another House-elf squeaks furiously.

  


  
'Oh yes,' Morgana calls out in triumph. 'Hermione Jean Granger, the champion of House-elf rights. You must feel like an utter fool now, don't you little girl?'

  


  
'Why? Because it turns out you were the one who cursed your own kind into servitude?' I reply, folding my arms over each other decisively. 'Where did the others go anyway?'

  


  
'The others?' Morgana replies confused. 'Oh, you mean the other Everon elves. Well, there aren't any. They were all an illusion, my dear. Everon is just one gigantic illusion drawn before human eyes. This is all what remains of a once great and powerful race,' and she points mockingly to the House-elves. 'Wonderful punishment isn't it? So befitting to their insolence against me. Now, they have to serve those unworthy creatures they tried so desperately to protect against my evil ways. Humans,' she spits. 'Scum of the earth … they do not honour nor worship the wealth that is granted them, but instead they soil everything with their incessant presence, polluting the very air they need to breathe.'

  


  
'Ah, here we go with the bigotry again,' I sigh. 'Let me guess … yadi, yadi, yada; I am so much better… yep, yep, yep; another group is beneath me … yack, yack, yack; hence they do not deserve to live, so we will torture and kill them all, because we are so superior.'

  


  
'Indeed, I am,' she states haughtily, 'I do not destroy my living environment.'

  


  
'No, you want to raise the dark powers of the underworld into this living environment. Now that's a healthy endeavour, which doesn't ruin anything at all,' I mock.

  


  
'Why, aren't you a well-informed little witch,' Morgana whispers in a hiss. 'Powerful and dark too,' she adds, looking me up and down appreciatively. 'You should join me, my dear; I will need someone to rule over the humans for me. I can't possibly be bothered with their measly problems.'

  


  
'Sorry, you are mistaken me for someone else. I am not interested in ruling a thing; there is your kindred spirit,' I jab, while pointing to Voldemort.

  


  
'Ah well, yes, I suppose he is,' Morgana says sighing. 'Unfortunately, he won't be around much longer.'

  


  
'Is that so?' Voldemort hisses quietly.

  


  
'Sorry, my dear, I duly regret it. It's kind of a waste, but I need your powers to raise the darkness,' Morgana replies loosely. 'And there is only one way for me to obtain them.'

  


  
Voldemort smirks. 'That goes both ways then. Thanks for the info.'

  


  
I dive out of the way when I see him move. A dash of green flies past me and impacts on Le Fay. It turns utterly silent when she simply brushes her cloak with her hand to straighten it out again. 'The Killing Curse,' she whispers, 'such a crude, yet effective curse _if_ your opponent isn't the one who invented it and knows how to counter it.'

  


  
'What counter are you talking about?' Voldemort asks, while narrowing his eyes at Le Fay. It's pretty obvious he is looking for an opening in her defensive capabilities.

  


  
'Nothing you would understand, I made sure of that,' she sneers. 'Isn't that right, Miss Granger?'

  


  
My head snaps up, while I am scrambling to my feet from my excellent ground diving performance. But Voldemort's mocking reply beats me to it. 'Oh, is it love again?'

  


  
Le Fay grins at him smugly before looking at me. 'Care to explain it to him, Miss Granger.'

  


  
I shake my head slowly.

  


  
'What? Aren't you one of those delusional women out there who think they can change a man?'

  


  
'I am not interested in changing him,' I respond coldly and move between the two.

  


  
'Ah…, see; she gets it,' Morgana says to Voldemort, while pointing at me. 'However, love will not beat me this time around.' A black dash flies from Le Fay's hand in the air straight through the dome of fire.

  


  
'What's that?' I ask concerned.

  


  
'Just a little something that will take care of a small tea cup. Horcruxes, such a feeble and easily broken method of obtaining immortality; not to mention quite insane too,' she says snorting, 'destroying that which lies at the origin of what you strive at.'

  


  
My eyes widen and I swirl around. 'You made another one?' I ask disbelievingly. 'Who did you kill this time?'

  


  
'Oh who cares,' Le Fay laughs, 'whoever it was is dead and the Horcrux is gone now too.'

  


  
'Hermione!' Voldemort shouts warningly.

  


  
But a similar jet of black has already struck me in my back, before I can move a muscle. I crash to the ground as an overwhelming pain stabs through my chest and I crawl into a foetal position, while clenching my eyes together. I feel how something or rather someone is being ripped out of me violently, and the pain almost makes me lose consciousness. But I hang onto every bit of willpower I can find to not pass out. I can't afford to pass out. I need to stop her. I need to.

  


  
'Thank you so much for making sure the little girl could not stop me with her pitiful love for you. You have personally insured my victory by tainting her with your presence. I'll think I'll use that rather crude curse now,' Le Fay taunts. 'Avada Kedavra!'

  


  
'No!' I cry out in despair when I see green light on the inside of my eyelids and hear a thud in the distance.

  


  
Laughter sounds through the air as I feel a surge of Voldemort's magic fly to Le Fay. 'Finally! All mine!' she yells triumphantly.

  


  
And I am afraid to open my eyes, so I keep them clenched together, trying desperate to ignore the reality, the fact that he may no longer be there. That I will never, ever feel the safety of his arms around me again. But he can't be dead, he can't be. He is immortal, he has to be. He can't leave me, he just can't. I shake my head and open my eyes. I wish I hadn't, because now I can't ignore it anymore, for a few feet away lies his motionless body. Oh Merlin.

  


  
'NO!'

  


  
The unearthly scream leaves my lips as I crawl to him with my hand still pressed to my aching chest. I shake him, but his eyes are blank - vacant of life and the ever so annoying mischievous sparkle that used to run through them when he was taunting me, challenging me. It's weird to see his white almost translucent features appear almost at peace. I stroke his face gently. Snakelike, so people will fear him. I smile sadly at remembering his strange reasoning. A brilliant wizard, who was as delusional as you could possibly get. He wanted to be feared, while his own angst was probably the greatest of them all. So, he needed to fool the world with a frightening appearance.

  


  
Well, now he has succeeded. I don't think his face has ever been scarier to me as it is now with that stupid, serene expression. It's just not him. It's not his face when it's devoid of that irritating smug smirk that I love so much. Why don't you bloody well smirk at me again! And I pound at his chest with my fists; furious about the lack of response. His lifeless body shakes from the blows I am administering but nothing happens; nothing! I slam my hand in front of my mouth and double over, crying relentlessly, while clinging to him. He's gone. Oh Godric, he has really left me. My head is leaning on his cold, unmoving chest as I weep for my loss.

  


  
'No, no, no,' I mutter, angry at myself.

  


  
I can't give up now. I have to see that obnoxious smirk again. I have to find a way; there has to be a method. All I have to do is: think. There may be a part left of him. And despite the pain in my chest that tells me nothing is there anymore, I desperately try to make contact with the part that was inside of me, the Horcrux the idiot turned me into. Come back to me, you moron. I'll do whatever you want, you win. I surrender. Just come back to me…

  


  
But the Horcrux' voice is gone too. I am too late. I failed. I failed him again, just like I did in my nightmare. I failed everyone; Ron, Harry, Ginny, Fred, George and all the other Weasleys, Neville, Luna, all my friends…, and now I also failed him.

  


  
No, I can't think that. I grab a hold of his dead body again and cling to it, pressing my head to his chest like I did in the Ministry of Magic. Breathe damn it, breathe. I focus on his heart like I did before. Beat; come on, just beat for crying out loud. But nothing happens, it is truly over. He is gone, dead for good.

  


  
Now, where is that murdering bitch?

  


  
I tilt my head sideways and through my tears I see her with her arms raised up in the air. In ancient Elfish she commands the dark magical power of the Underworld to rise. A breeze brushes my hair and the earth begins to shake and stir. It's when Everon explodes; rock, trees, plants and no doubt animals fly through the air in thousand pieces. I bury myself on top of Voldemort's body to shield it from the upcoming impact, but the debris doesn't reach beyond the enchanted walls of the Elfin Kingdom. When I look up again, Everon is gone and a large crater with a dark opening remains behind the now melted gates. Maglor looks at it with a sad expression.

  


  
'Yes,' Le Fay hisses satisfied and she swirls to her kind. 'I've won you fools. And you lot will be the first to feel my new and enhanced powers as I claim them.'

  


  
I look backward at the House-elves, whose eyes are throwing daggers at Le Fay. However, that merely amuses her thoroughly. 'Isn't cursing them into servitude as House-elves enough?' I think sadly, while hearing Le Fay taunt them. 'Wait a second…'

  


  
My head snaps back at Maglor. How come he exists? My eyes dart between him, Le Fay and the House-elves confused. If Everon elves are an illusion, why is he here? His body is similar to Le Fay's. He has Elfin eyes and ears, but he is tall and of normal built as she is. But he is nothing like the House-elves, who are all tiny creatures, and if she cursed all the elves into that lifestyle...

  


  
I narrow my eyes at Maglor Silimaurë. His arms are still folded over each other and he has that same haughty expression he had when he visited Hogwarts. There is something oddly familiar about him. It's in the way he holds himself and … moves. Oh my god. No, it can't be. My jaw drops and I just stare at Maglor, while flashes of old conversations race through my mind.

  


  
_Yoda asked Maglor to make it after you arrived at the monastery. … It enhances the magical connection. …immortality to its wearer... …the Stone required Elfin magic to work correctly… Yoda stated only an elf could make the properties to enhance the magical connection that exists between Tom and you. …_

  


  
As if he feels my attention, Maglor turns his head and captures my gaze. A small smile forms on his face and the expression is oh so familiar. I smile back, while my eyes fall on the counter-stone of the Amulet that is dangling by its cord in Maglor's hand.

  


  
_'Only an elf could make it … the magical connection that exists between Tom and you.'_ It sounds through my head, while in the distance I hear Morgan Le Fay jeer at the others about her victory. But she is wrong, she lost.

  


  
'Tom Riddle?' I whisper softly.

  


  
And I feel the Amulet's heat against my body as a flash of triumph flies through Maglor's eyes and his features shift into Tom Marvolo Riddle's simultaneously with Le Fay's furious shriek. 'NOOOO!' She swirls around and aims at me. 'Avada Kedavra!' she casts.

  


  
A bright light flies from both the Amulet of Aine and its counter part in Maglor… uh… Tom's hand. They converge and surround us both, while a beam of white light diverges and charges toward Morgan Le Fay. And as its green counterpart slams into my chest without effect, the brightness of the white jet of light makes Le Fay scream in agony. She covers her head with her arms. A pang sounds; loose, black feathers fly through the air; and a raven lifts of the ground hurriedly, being chased down by not only pots, pans and other kitchen wear but also some very powerful and nasty curses cast by her fellow elves.

  


  
'Get that bitch!' shouts Kreacher. 'Don't let her escape again!'

  


  
A herd of House-elves flies in pursuit after the raven through the dome of fire and I laugh at the comical visual. I truly hope they get her. A hand falls on my arm and I look up into two amused, dark eyes. 'How did you know?'

  


  
'Well, you have very distinct mannerism,' I joke.

  


  
He arches a perfectly shaped eyebrow. 'Oh, do I?' he grins.

  


  
For what seems like an eternity we stare at each other, surrounded by the light of the Amulet. He cups my face gently. 'My little one, I knew you could do it,' he whispers, stroking my face.

  


  
'You are not here to stay, are you?' I ask quietly.

  


  
He shakes his head. 'Our lives are connected,' Tom says, looking down at Voldemort's lifeless body. 'The Amulet merely grants me a temporary extension.'

  


  
'For how long?'

  


  
'Until the light fails and darkness comes,' Tom says gravely and he looks back at the crater.

  


  
_'Darkness is everywhere and in everyone, but only those who know its true nature can contain it. To be or not to be, it is your choice.'_

  


  
Yoda's words ring through my mind, because I now fully understand what he was preparing me for. And I swallow fearfully, while glancing at the dark opening that is leaking black vapour. I have so many questions to ask. I better hurry, while Tom is still here.

  


  
'What precisely are you?'

  


  
'I am a side-effect of a potion. The one thing Morgana failed to anticipate in advance when she created Amortentia.'

  


  
'You are the part he missed,' I conclude, looking at Voldemort.

  


  
'It had to go somewhere,' Tom replies, shrugging apologetically.

  


  
'So, that's why Yoda asked you to make this stone. You could enhance the magical connection between Voldemort and me, because you are a part of him.'

  


  
'Yes, and Yoda knew you needed something against Le Fay's Killer Curses,' Tom replies, picking the Amulet in his hand and allowing the cord to run through his fingers. His skin brushes my neck, and I close my eyes. Merlin, I am going to miss him.

  


  
'You can do this, Hermione.'

  


  
I send him a rather weak, unconvinced smile. 'Why did Le Fay let you create the stone?'

  


  
Tom laughs. 'I may have been somewhat trapped in that Elfin body, but her control over me had significant boundaries due to my inert nature. You always were the key to set me free.'

  


  
'Sorry I didn't see it sooner.'

  


  
'How could you have known?'

  


  
'I could have paid more attention.'

  


  
'You had other things on your mind, Hermione; but you caught it on time. And only your love for me, _for him_ , was the one thing that could set me free for real. Identifying me without it wouldn't have done the trick; you would have probably tried to kill me had you figured out back then who I was.'

  


  
'I might have,' I say nodding contemplatively.

  


  
'Oh, I am sure,' Tom smirks. 'It was always meant to go this way. Voldemort and I wouldn't have been able to both be free and alive simultaneously. A great unbalance in the Force would have been created had that happened.'

  


  
'If you couldn't live together, why do you have to die together?' I say with a hint of resentment to the unfairness of the situation. 'Why can't you live on?'

  


  
'I have never truly lived and I will never truly be alive. He was a person; he was me. I am merely…'

  


  
'… a side-effect,' I finish, biting my lip.

  


  
'Yes,' Tom says calmly. 'You always were supposed to be the one to make the choice between dark and light. Your love was the key to defeating Le Fay and her powers. Victory is yours.'

  


  
'Oh yippee,' I sarcastically state. 'Do you think I can take a rain check on my winnings?' and I point to the black vapour at the opening of the crater that is slowly becoming denser.

  


  
His warm laugh fills the air. 'I sincerely doubt you can outrun it,' he teases.

  


  
'Eh,' I huff. 'I happen to be very fast if need be.'

  


  
His hand falls on my arm and he squeezes it softly. 'You can do this, Hermione. I know you can.'

  


  
The ground starts trembling again and my eyes widen as a dark plume shoots from the centre of the crater. A long stream of recently learned Elfish swearwords leaves my lips, and I glance sideways at Tom, who is slowly fading as our light diminishes. Oh, I am not so sure I can do this. Not alone. Not without him. I look at him pleading for help.

  


  
'You'll find a way to succeed, Hermione; you're strong. You can control the darkness,' he says certainly, and he glances at the onward thundering dark plume that charges toward me. 'Remember Hermione, you are in charge of it,' I hear his echo say.

  


  
I brace myself for the inevitable impact and the full force of the darkness of the Underworld rams into me a millisecond later. I double over and I see the counter-stone crash to the ground lifelessly as our light fails and Tom is no more either. Not a single piece of evidence of his existence remains beside the memory in my mind and the counter-stone, which I summon and place into my pocket. Slowly, my sadness over Lord Voldemort's death fades as the new-found dark power makes its way through my central nervous system. And I rise to my feet, feeling invigorated and more in control than ever before. It's thrilling, intoxicating and a wonderful sensation to behold all this magical force inside of you. I wave my hand through the air to test it and the fiery dome disappears in a flash.

  


  
'Hermione?'

  


  
It's Jareth. I look around and my dark eyes meet his. It's when I notice he is no longer alone. Almost every Knight is standing at the clearing, surrounding me. I let out a humourless laugh. Now, they are here. I should have known.

  


  
'Hermione?' Jareth insists.

  


  
'I am fine,' I respond coldly. 'I am in control of it.'

  


  
'Good,' he replies, checking me up and down suspiciously.

  


  
'I've decided not to be,' I say with a small smile.

  


  
'I am glad to hear that,' Jareth responds calmly.

  


  
I turn when I hear the snapping sound of branches breaking and a gasp. It's Sloan. He has awoken from Jareth's Stunner, and his jaw has dropped several inches as he stares at the dead body of Lord Voldemort. In a daze, the Unspeakable walks toward us. 'He is dead,' Sloan finally whispers and he looks at me for some kind of reassurance and acknowledgement to that statement.

  


  
'Yes,' I say.

  


  
Sloan lets out a relieved sigh. 'Thank Rowena, finally.' He turns to me for obvious orders. 'What do you want done?'

  


  
'Hold it right there,' I interrupt chilly. 'I am not nor ever will be a politician. Jareth?'

  


  
'Yes?'

  


  
'Can the Knights make sure the transition back gets done? I cannot…' I halt, because a part of me wants to take charge now. But I know I should not get too near to a base of power. I will fall into this darkness if I do.

  


  
'We will assist where needed,' Jareth finishes understandingly, and he nods his head towards the others who immediately Apparate away.

  


  
'The Knights of Silence will assist you in reforming the Ministry of Magic,' I tell Sloan. 'I will not.'

  


  
'But you are a hero,' Sloan interrupts. 'People will want to …'

  


  
'I don't care about other people's wishes. Right now all I want to do is see my family. Where are they?'

  


  
'At the Dark Lord's quarters in Hogwarts,' Sloan answers.

  


  
'Then, there is where I will go first,' I say, staring into thin air, because it is painful to think about returning there without him. I turn around and look at the dead body of the man I loved. I glance up at Jareth. 'Can you take care of his body also? I do not wish it to be on display for any means anywhere.'

  


  
Jareth nods knowingly.

  


  
'But people will need…,' Sloan starts.

  


  
'I don't give a rat's ass to what people think they need to see to believe he is dead. If you want to show them a body, conjure something else into it,' I hiss furiously. 'They are not getting _Him_. Is that understood, Sloan, or do I need to clarify matters to you?' And I can feel my eyes flashing as I speak.

  


  
'Why don't you go see your parents and sister first, Hermione,' Jareth suggests, shushing the situation. 'I will make sure Tom's body will not get violated.'

  


  
I look at him and calm down. I know I can trust him to keep his word. 'Thank you,' I merely say, and I Apparate back to Hogwarts.

  


  
'Hermione!' I hear my mother's voice shout and I feel her arms wrap around me. 'You're all right. You are all right,' she whispers, crushing me to death.

  


  
'Yes, everything is fine now,' I respond as I hug both my parents. 'I am taking you home. The war is all over.'

  


  
My mother grabs my head and looks at me. 'He is gone?'

  


  
'Yes,' I respond with pain in my heart, and I get another bone crushing hug from the both of them.

  


  
'Are you really my sister?' Kate inquires cheerfully, while patting the hairy dog who sits beside her on the ground.

  


  
'Yes,' I reply, smiling at her over my mother's shoulder. 'I am Hermione.'

  


  
'Cool,' Kate says. 'My name is Kate and I have a dog.'

  


  
'So I see. I'll have to build you a doghouse then.'

  


  
'It can sleep with me,' Kate suggests.

  


  
'Now dear, we will talk about that when we get home,' Rose responds sternly.

  


  
'Our old house is still intact?' Hugo asks.

  


  
I nod. 'It will need some redecorating though,' I smile, while flashing my wand around to transport us all back to my parents' house.  
  
---


	31. Endgame

**Author's note:** POV is alternating between characters in this epilogue. 

  


  
_A big thanks goes to NinjetteX for looking over my ramblings and correcting them, and another thanks to Serpie for kicking my arse and helping out at the same time. (rubs sore butt)._

  


  
Maglor's elf name comes from chriswetherell dot com slash elf slash - I filled in Tom Marvolo Riddle and it gave Maglor Silimaurë.  
  
For the Elfish spell I used an English – Elfish translator online: angelfire dotcom slash empire2 slash angora5 slash translator dothtml

  


  
Cookies for everyone who recognises the Order of the Phoenix allusion.

* * *

  


  
**The Bittersweet Taste of Victory**

  


  
_Is this real enough for you?  
  
You were so confused  
  
Now that you decided to stay  
  
We'll remain together_

  


  
_You can depend on me_  
  
 _You belong to me_  
  
 _Breathe in and take my life in you_  
  
 _No longer myself only you_  
  
 _There's no escaping me my love_  
  
 _Surrender_

  


  
_Darling there's no sense in running_  
  
 _You know I will find you_  
  
 _Everything is perfect now_  
  
 _We can live forever_

  


  
_You can depend on me_  
  
 _You belong to me_  
  
 _Breathe in and take my life in you_  
  
 _No longer myself only you_  
  
 _There's no escaping me my love_  
  
 _Surrender_

  


  
_Hands up slowly_  
  
 _Give in to_

  


  
_Breathe in and take my life in you_  
  
 _No longer myself only you_  
  
 _There's no escaping me my love_  
  
 _Surrender_  
  
 _Surrender_  
  
 _Surrender_  
  
Surrender

  


  
Evanescence; Surrender

  


  
**Endgame**

  


  
_Summer, 2018._

  


  
It is incomprehensible how the world keeps turning as if nothing happened. Empires fall and people go on with their every day lives: shopping for groceries, making love, reading the paper and doing their jobs. It has been almost ten years since everyone acknowledged Hermione Jean Granger defeated the Dark Lord, and it is almost like those years of dark rule were all a bad dream; a nightmare if you wish. Slowly, everything has returned to the state it was before Voldemort's reign. It makes Liam Sloan look at the babbling Minister of Magic in front of him with indifference. To Sloan, the man is just another politician with ideas on how the world should rotate around him. Normally, Sloan wouldn't care, but this time he is not looking forward to the job he has been given. Find Hermione Jean Granger and convince her to come to the festivities held in her honour.

  


  
He still remembers how she vanished that day; the day she, somehow, eradicated Everon and the Dark Lord in one single blow. Everon, he never knew it was something bad, but apparently it was. It still irritates him severely that he doesn't know or understands precisely what happened that day. He always felt that there were pieces of the puzzle missing, vital pieces. So many mysteries that were never fully cleared, and he despises mysteries; well, the ones that are kept without him knowing the truth, that is. He tried to get the answers, but that had nearly got him killed, and he recalls the explicit order that came by owl the next day.

  


  
'Leave me the hell alone or suffer the consequences.'

  


  
As he leaves the presence of the minister, that sentence keeps running through his mind. Sloan has always been good in finding those who do not want to be found, and he is pretty certain he will be able to locate Hermione. There is just so much doubt in his mind whether she will welcome him or blast him into a million pieces on sight. After all, he is the one who found her parents and brought them to the Dark Lord. He hunted after her when she was on the run. He helped the Dark Lord locate her mentor, which got the monk killed. So Liam feels pretty safe in stating that he is probably not one of Hermione's most favourite people in the world. An overwhelming feeling of discomfort runs through him as he Apparates away to start his search for the most elusive woman in the world.

  


  
After weeks of searching without any progress, he is walking the path to the Tibetan monastery, contemplating on this stupid mission the Minister of Magic has sent him on. Somehow, it's beginning to feel more and more like an impossible task. Sloan has the distinct feeling he is going to fail this assignment, and it makes his stomach twist. Failure is not an option for him. He always finds his mark, always. And he will find _Her,_ too.

  


  
However, Hermione had disappeared of the face of the earth immediately after her victory over the Dark Lord. Though every now and then, she had sent the Department of Mysteries some magical enhancement or new discovery on a wide variety of subjects. But that was all they heard from her and it was always done through intermediaries, she never came in person. She had not replied to any owls sent her way, and even though there had been glimpses and reports of sightings, no one had actually spoken with the woman herself. Although many said they had.

  


  
Sloan sighs. If he got a Knut for every time someone claimed to be best friends with the heroine of the Wizarding World, he would be a very wealthy man now. However, none of those _"best friends"_ were ever able to actually contact Hermione for him, so Sloan decided to come to Tibet and question the Knights of Silence. They are his last hope of finding the wretched, evasive woman. He kicks one of the larger stones on the grit path in frustration when one of the Knights appears out of nowhere.

  


  
'Violence merely invokes more pain,' the monk solemnly says, while Sloan shakes his leg to relieve his poor aching toe.

  


  
Irritated, Sloan glares at the grey-haired, mediocre-looking monk he has never seen before. Liam remembers very clearly how the Knights of Silence helped rebuild the world back to the way it used to be right after Lord Voldemort's death and how, because of them, the transition went smoothly. But Sloan, having an excellent photographic memory, also recalls their annoying calm demeanour and those blasted phrases that, at times, made him wish the Dark Lord was back to kill the lot of them. For Liam holds no illusions to the strength of his magical powers; he is very well aware he could never take even one of them on.

  


  
'How can we be of service?' the monk asks, smiling, after a long silence.

  


  
'I need to speak with the Lead Knight if that is at all possible?' Sloan asks politely despite his feelings.

  


  
'Naturally,' the unknown monk replies cheerfully. 'Follow me.'

  


  
He is shown into the main building and the familiar figure of Jareth comes into view. Liam had taken over Hermione's nickname of the Lead Knight a long time ago, because he felt it was very appropriate.

  


  
'Liam Sloan, welcome, we have been expecting you,' Jareth says calmly. 'Tea or coffee?'

  


  
'No, thank you. I need to find Hermione,' Sloan says, coming straight to business. 'Can you bring me to her?'

  


  
Jareth gazes at him for a moment and Liam feels like he is being X-rayed again. However, Jareth is not the Dark Lord, and Sloan is not too uncomfortable underneath this man's gaze. Sighing, Jareth sits down in his chair and shakes his head. 'Do you really think she will welcome you?' Jareth asks Sloan quietly. 'You were the one who jeopardised her parents' health by leading the Dark Lord to them.'

  


  
So they know where she is, as he expected. 'Miss Granger can always kick me out if she doesn't want to talk to me, but I'd like to hear it from her in person,' Sloan replies, determined.

  


  
'Mrs Granger,' Jareth corrects.

  


  
'She got married?' Liam asks surprised. How did that bit of news escape the world's attention, not to mention him? He takes great pride in his ability to know everything that happens, everywhere. And the marriage of the world's saviour staying out of his scope… It-it feels like a personal incompetence to him. He is beginning to see how Hermione was able to elude and resist the Dark Lord for so long. The woman truly is a remarkably intelligent witch.

  


  
'Some four years ago.' Jareth's answer interrupts his thinking.

  


  
'Good for her,' Liam replies contently, 'I hope she is happy?'

  


  
To his astonishment, Jareth shrugs his shoulders. 'For as far as she can be,' he says puzzling.

  


  
Sloan frowns. What is that supposed to mean? But he decides not to ask. He probably won't get a straight answer anyway, and he isn't in the mood for another stupid phrase. He'll just have to see for himself how Hermione is doing. 'So, can you take me to her?'

  


  
'I suppose … I could,' Jareth replies contemplatively. 'However, I sincerely doubt she will help your minister in his quest for re-election.'

  


  
Liam smiles. He is not surprised Jareth is able to guess the true motives of the minister for wanting Hermione at the celebrations. 'Many more people would love to see and pay tribute to her,' Liam responds honestly. 'They don't care much about the minister's agenda, and I can say for myself that I never had the chance to thank her for what she did and…'

  


  
Jareth holds up his hand to stop Sloan from continuing. 'I'll show you the way to Hermione's mansion, but I must warn you in advance she is not the witch you remember her to be.'

  


  
Jareth rises out of his chair and walks to the wall. Confused, Sloan looks over his shoulder at the only door in the room. Where is that man going? A wave of Jareth's hand and the wall disintegrates in front of Sloan's eyes; beyond it lies a huge mansion in the distance.

  


  
'Hermione lives here?' Sloan asks astounded. He never had the impression she was that fond of them.

  


  
'We felt it was imperative that she would be close by, and fortunately, Hermione agreed with our reasoning,' Jareth explains.

  


  
Sloan raises his eyebrows and walks to Jareth. 'Are you sure you want to continue?' Jareth asks one more time.

  


  
'Of course,' Sloan replies. He feels somewhat irritated that the man is still blocking his path.

  


  
'Good luck then,' Jareth wishes lightly, before stepping aside to let Liam pass.

  


  
As Sloan steps past the wall of the monastery, it rises back up behind him and he has no other choice but to follow the path to the house on the hill. The path to it is straight and narrow, while a dense, dark forest surrounds it at both sides. Slowly, the large trees begin to block the sunlight completely and he has problems seeing where he is going. When it turns pitch-dark, he flips out his wand.

  


  
'Lumos!'

  


  
But to his utter distress, the road is no longer straight and the house has disappeared from view. For a second he is tempted to turn around and go back, but he regains his composure and continues. Going back would be a failure now that he has come this far. It's when a fork appears right in the road ahead; a fork, which wasn't there a minute ago. Sloan places his wand on his palm and casts: 'Point me!'

  


  
Several times he needs to use his wand for directions and his heart is constricting in his chest anxiously, because he is almost convinced the gloomy trees are moving in on him, telling him to 'go back; return; you are not wanted here'.

  


  
But he moves on just the same and his determination pays off. Suddenly, he reaches the end of the dreary forest and his eyelids press together from the blinding sunlight that hits his face. After blinking a couple of times, his eyes are adjusted to the new lighting and he watches the huge, dark mansion that towers above him on the hill. It gives of an atmosphere of doom and it frightens him severely. This is where Hermione Jean Granger, heroine of the world, lives? He finds it hard to believe, but he moves up the hill to her front door and rings the rather loud bell.

  


  
The door flings open and on the other side stands a young boy with smooth, raven-black hair and a pair of very familiar brown eyes, his mother's eyes. 'Who are you?' the boy asks haughtily.

  


  
'My name is Liam Sloan and you are?'

  


  
'I am Maglor Devon Granger.'

  


  
Sloan looks the boy up and down again. Surely, it couldn't be? However, it would explain why she disappeared from the public eye fully. And the boy looks to be the right age. 'Hello, Maglor. It's…'

  


  
'I go by Devon,' Devon interrupts quickly.

  


  
'I beg your pardon, Devon. It's nice to meet you,' Sloan replies politely. 'Is your mother in? We are old friends,' he adds when he sees Devon looking at him rather suspiciously.

  


  
'Mum is out for the moment. You can come back later.'

  


  
Devon is about to close the door, but Sloan places his hand on the rim. 'Uhmm… Devon, can't I wait inside? It's kind of hot out here and that forest is … well…'

  


  
Devon looks to the woods with an understanding glance. 'Yes, well… I suppose, but…'

  


  
'I am an Unspeakable,' Sloan quickly says when he sees the doubt in the boy's eyes, and he shows Devon his identification.

  


  
The boy takes the card excitedly and looks at it thorough. To Sloan's surprise, a wand appears in Devon's hand and he casts a spell at his card; non-verbally!

  


  
'Wow, this is for real,' Devon states impressed, and he hands Sloan his identification back. 'What's it like to be an Unspeakable?'

  


  
'Hard work,' Sloan thinks, but instead he says: 'I'm not supposed to talk about it, but maybe… if you are old enough to keep a secret?'

  


  
'I am nine years already,' Devon says, somewhat insulted. 'And I have always been able to keep a secret.'

  


  
'Well, in that case… do you mind if I come inside and tell you?'

  


  
Devon looks at him again for a moment, and then, he smirks condescendingly. 'I guess it won't matter whether you wait inside or outside. You can't do anything here without mum's permission anyway.'

  


  
Devon opens the door further and gestures him in. Sloan is now absolutely positive the boy is Lord Voldemort's son. Not only does the boy's age fit, but his posture and demeanour just scream "we are related". However, he would like to know what the boy meant when he said he couldn't do anything here. Alas, asking would cause the kid to become suspicious of him again and he can't have that.

  


  
'You can put your coat on the hanger there,' Devon says, pointing to the closet. 'The living room is this way.'

  


  
Sloan quickly hangs his coat in the closet and enters the room on his right that the boy disappeared into. Any doubts he may have had concerning Devon's true identity fly out of the window when he sees the boy hissing and spitting without drawing in breath to the large black mamba on the couch. The snake hisses back angrily. Devon arches his eyebrows and points to the floor, gazing at the snake commandingly. A short irritated hiss accompanies the snake's department of the couch and it coils up on the rug in front of the large window, basking in the sunlight. Devon turns back to Sloan.

  


  
'Sorry about that. Serpie always thinks the couch is her domain when I am not around,' Devon says apologetically. 'If you behave, she won't bite you,' he adds amused when he notices Sloan's trepidation to come in and sit down.

  


  
'Glad to hear it,' Sloan replies in a fake casual posture.

  


  
He walks to the couch reluctantly, knowing full well the twelve feet long snake is one of the most venomous snakes in the world and definitely the fastest one out there. He isn't sure he will be able to whip out his wand on time if it will strike him. One bite and you most certainly are dead twenty minutes later. And the boy's smirk is not really reassuring him he is not in bodily harm at the moment.

  


  
Just when he is about to sit down, a loud crack vibrates through the room. Sloan swirls around as a wave of magic hits him unlike he ever felt before. He can barely remain standing so much force lingers behind the magic that whirls around her very being. Quickly, he looks over his shoulder to check on the whereabouts of the dangerous snake, but it is merely gazing at him lazily. Relieved, he nods in acknowledgement to the woman who just Apparated into her living room with a little baby on her arm and a toddler who clings to her leg. The little boy has a tremendous bush of frizzy brown hair on his head and the skin around his mouth is filled with brown smutches from the traces left by the candy stick that his mother is now handing back to him.

  


  
'Devon, Devon! Look, I got you a pack of Choco Frogs!' The tiny toddler runs toward his older brother happily, and Devon accepts the pack that is being pulled from a pocket smiling.

  


  
'I have a licky wand.' And the little one holds up his candy stick to show his older brother.

  


  
'It's Liquorice Wand, Matthew,' Devon corrects.

  


  
'Yes, a licko wand,' the bushy-haired boy replied satisfied, sucking on the sweet stick relentlessly. 'Who is that?' Matthew asks with his mouth full, pointing with his free hand to Sloan.

  


  
'Oh, this is Mr Sloan. He is…,' Devon starts, but he stops when he sees the cold expression on his mother's face. Swiftly, his eyes dart between his mother and the Unspeakable.

  


  
'Devon,' Hermione says slowly, not taking her eyes of Sloan for a single moment, while she undoes the Cloth-carrier her baby is in with a flick of her wand. 'Can you take Sally to her crib?'

  


  
'Sure,' Devon replies immediately.

  


  
'I am three,' Matthew tells Sloan inconsequentially.

  


  
'Oh,' Sloan replies, placing the appropriate amount of impressiveness in his voice. 'So, you are a big boy then.'

  


  
'U-hu,' Matthew says, nodding vigorously.

  


  
'Matthew, why don't you help your brother put Sally in her crib?' Hermione interrupts the two, while she hands Devon Sally and asks him to take Serpie with him too.

  


  
Devon frowns, but he turns around with the baby in his arms and he hisses to the snake that immediately begins to slither to the door. Sloan is not happy, because Serpie decides to take the tourist route out of the room (which means she slithers right by him) and he jumps back shocked when the snake rises and makes an abrupt motion with its head toward him. He is sure he saw those killer fangs blink at him, while Devon laughs out loud.

  


  
'Devon,' Hermione says admonishingly.

  


  
But the lack of sincerity in her voice is not very comforting to Sloan. Not to mention the fact that nobody seems to care enough to get this smirking snake to stop hissing and spitting at him.

  


  
'Sorry, mum. Come on Serpie; I'll get you something a bit tastier to eat.'

  


  
The snake's eyes widen happily and after one last mocking flick of her tongue in his direction, it slithers out of the room.

  


  
'Matthew, are you coming too?' Devon asks his brother, who is still monitoring Sloan up and down as if he is a miracle to be seen. 'I'll help you make bubbles.'

  


  
'With a wand?' Matthew asks excitedly.

  


  
Devon nods, while conjuring a couple of bubbles for Sally, who tries to reach them, crowing in delight.

  


  
'YAY!' Matthew shouts and runs past his older brother. 'Bye, Mister,' he says in the doorway.

  


  
Sloan makes a small hand wave to the toddler, but the kid is already gone from view.

  


  
'Thanks, Devon,' Hermione says, smiling at her oldest son who is still making bubbles for Sally as he too vacates the living room.

  


  
It doesn't escape Sloan's attention that the boy glances back to them curiously before Devon closes the door behind him with a flick of his wand.

  


  
'Nice children,' Sloan says hoarsely. The little snake incident is still fresh in his mind.

  


  
'Yes,' Hermione replies shortly.

  


  
It becomes eerily silent. Sloan doesn't know what to say next. He looks at the woman he hasn't seen in almost ten years. Jareth wasn't kidding when he said she changed. Dark power cascades of her in waves, and her face is ever so cold and collective as she gazes at him. Her eyes miss the warmth which he remembered was in them when they were still that brown colour the first time he saw her. But they are pitch-black now and there is no kindness visible. He feels incredibly uncomfortable in the presence of this Hermione; she oozes darkness to an extreme he has not felt before, not even in the Dark Lord. He shuffles on his feet, before he decides to break the unpleasant silence.

  


  
'Devon, is he…?'

  


  
'Yes.'

  


  
'I had no idea you were pregnant when you vanquished the Dark Lord,' Sloan says quietly.

  


  
'I didn't know back then either.'

  


  
And it is silent again.

  


  
'When was he born?'

  


  
'One minute after midnight; on May first 2009.'

  


  
'Ah, hence the name Devon,' Sloan says understandingly, 'because of Walpurgis Night.'

  


  
'Yes, I am sure his father would have been proud of his timing.'

  


  
The silence returns with a vengeance.

  


  
'I heard you got married.'

  


  
'With Matthew's father, about a year before he was born.'

  


  
'Does he know about Devon's father?'

  


  
'He can add.'

  


  
'Does Devon know?'

  


  
'Why are you here, Liam?'

  


  
'The minister…'

  


  
'I am not interested in supporting his campaign. I strongly oppose his views on dropping the worldwide ban on Love Potions and you are welcome to use that as an excuse for the reason I will not be attending the festivities come September nineteenth.'

  


  
'It's been ten years; people want to celebrate and…'

  


  
'They can do that without me. I am not celebrating the death of my child's father. I could never explain that to Devon.'

  


  
'So the boy knows.'

  


  
'I am not keeping secrets from my children, Liam. However, since you are here, I do have a favour to ask of you.'

  


  
'Name it.'

  


  
'I want my son's birthday to be altered in the official records, including the Hogwarts scroll.'

  


  
'That will be complicated.'

  


  
'I need only two months added onto them, Liam. I don't want him to have to go to Hogwarts two years from now with a stigma attached to his back. I want him to have the opportunity to be himself and not be compared to his biological father every single time he does something that people may frown upon. Devon has my last name, as do all my children, but his birthday is a dead giveaway as to who his father truly is. And he has accepted Matthew and Sally's father as his, which…' Hermione falters in her speech. It is the first time Sloan sees some genuine emotion of care in her if only briefly.

  


  
'It must have been hard,' he says softly.

  


  
'You have no idea,' Hermione replies, biting her lip. 'Can you do it?'

  


  
Sloan nods slowly. 'The Ministerial Records won't be an issue. It may take me some doing with the Hogwarts scroll, but I know where they keep it. His full name is Maglor Devon Granger?'

  


  
'Yes.'

  


  
'So I make it July First, 2009 then. That is still close.'

  


  
'I didn't carry Devon for the full nine months; he was eager to get out. It was a sure testament to his character,' Hermione says fondly, and a short laugh escapes her lips.

  


  
'With two such extraordinary parents, I am sure the boy will be ahead of most his peers,' Sloan replies kindly.

  


  
'He is incredibly smart,' Hermione states proudly.

  


  
'The Ministerial Record doesn't require it, but I will also need a father's name to replace the one on the Hogwarts scroll.'

  


  
'Thomas Granger.'

  


  
'Your husband has taken your name?' Sloan asks surprised.

  


  
'He is not … on speaking terms with his family,' Hermione replies, and a small smile flies over her face.

  


  
'I am sorry to hear that,' Sloan says politely, and for a split-second, he thinks he sees an amused flicker in Hermione's eyes.

  


  
'Don't be. We are neither,' Hermione responds, and her face has turned blank again.

  


  
'You're certain I can't persuade you and your family to come?'

  


  
'We'd better not. I may be inclined to take over if the minister starts talking rubbish,' Hermione replies, folding her arms over each other decisively.

  


  
Sloan looks at the woman who stands a few feet away from him. There is no doubt in his mind she could pull it off. She probably could take over the world in a blink of an eye with that kind of dark power. He wonders if she is living isolated to keep herself away from the temptation or whether it is just to keep her children out of the public eye?

  


  
'A bit of both,' Hermione answers his unspoken question coldly.

  


  
Sloan's eyes widen. He has not noticed her Legilimency at all. How long would she have been in his mind already? And… He halts there, realising he might as well speak his thoughts out loud, considering it is obvious Hermione is picking up on them despite the extensive Occlumency training he received as an Unspeakable.

  


  
'If that is all…?' Hermione inquires.

  


  
Sloan nods. 'How do I send you a message to inform you whether or not I succeeded in altering Devon's official records?'

  


  
'You won't have to. I will know if you have succeeded or not,' Hermione replies evenly. 'And I am giving you a generous timetable of three months to accomplish it.'

  


  
Sloan frowns.

  


  
'I'll escort you back to the monastery,' Hermione says, holding out her hand to Sloan.

  


  
His coat appears back on his body and Sloan blinks. He had not summoned it nor did he notice any signs from Hermione that she used magic, but clearly she had. And how the hell did she know he had one on him anyway? He stares at the hand that is being offered. 'I can Apparate there myself.'

  


  
'Your magic was blocked completely the moment you set foot in this house; and if you had come here with bad intentions, you wouldn't have made it through those woods either. My wards are incredibly ghastly,' Hermione says with a vile smirk on her otherwise expressionless face.

  


  
Reluctantly, Sloan takes her hand. A severe jolt flies through his body and he crashes down on his knees. He sees the upward twitch in the corner of her mouth and the amused glance in her eyes as he looks up to her, just before she Apparates them both back into Jareth's chamber.

  


  
Jareth looks up from his book at the unusual scene before him. 'Hermione,' the monk says calmly.

  


  
'Jareth,' she replies evenly, before addressing Liam again. 'I trust you will handle what I asked of you to the best of your abilities, Liam. If you fail, I will have to take matters into my hands. So, I strongly recommend you do not let that happen.'

  


  
With a crack, she is gone again and Sloan stares at the empty spot distraught.

  


  
'I warned you about the change in her,' Jareth speaks up slowly.

  


  
'I had no idea it was this bad. It feels even worse around her than it did around the Dark Lord. She … she seems the embodiment of darkness,' Sloan says, scrambling back to his feet.

  


  
'That's because she is. She swallowed it all: his darkness, Le Fay's, Everon's and the full dark force of the Underworld. It's an awful lot of dark power for one person to cope with.'

  


  
Sloan furrows his brows upon hearing this new bit of information. He remembers how Hermione's responses to him back then were oddly detached and cold, and how she had nearly bitten his head of when he made some remark about the Dark Lord. But he had blamed it on her experiences by being the Dark Lord's prisoner for such a long duration of time. He never knew she had absorbed dark magic. 'But then – then shouldn't we … I don't know; do something?' he suggests, mystified over the Knight's calmness at mentioning such a horrific scenario.

  


  
'Why?' Jareth asks smiling.

  


  
'Why? Why!' Sloan repeats, aggravated about those bloody monks' apathy. 'Because of the threat, of course.'

  


  
'Hermione is a Light Force, who has known darkness. Because of that, she understands its true nature. It is why she is the only one capable of containing it. But it is a thin line she threads on. A balance she needs to find every single minute of every single day over and over again. The decision _not to be_ is one she will have to face for the rest of her remaining life. I recommend you leave her in peace, because the decision _to be_ is far more tempting than _not to be_. I have been there and I know it will be far less exhausting for her to give into the darkness that engulfs her and become the person it wants her to be than to resist it. We need to support her in her fight, not make it more difficult.'

  


  
'She is fighting a losing battle,' Sloan whispers.

  


  
'No, I disagree,' Jareth rebuts firmly. 'She is a strong woman who wants her children to grow up and live in a peaceful environment. She will resist the darkness for them and she will prevail.'

  


  
'I hope you are right,' Sloan replies doubtfully, 'because if you are wrong…'

  


  
'If I am wrong, there is nothing any one of us can do to stop her,' Jareth ends quietly.

  


  
_Friday, June 24th 2033_

  


  
Sloan sits down at one of the few still unoccupied circular tables that fill the Great Hall of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. This year's end-of-term feast is exceptionally grand. The Headmistress has even enlarged the Great Hall to fit all the people into it. Not only the students and teachers are here, but many dignitaries and all the parents are invited. It has everything to do with the twenty-fifth anniversary of the Dark Lord's fall. Sloan's wife's son, Ted Remus Lupin – who became the youngest Minister of Magic ever after personal endorsement by Hermione Granger in his campaign – has declared the entire year of 2033 an official year of celebration, which is the origin to the out-of-the-ordinary grand festivity at Hogwarts this year. Sloan couldn't help but wonder whether Hermione would come too or whether she would be avoiding it like the plague as she had done with all the other celebrations in the past. Somehow, Sloan has a sneaking suspicion Hermione misses the Dark Lord and that it is the true reason behind her not feasting like everyone else.

  


  
However, he heard she attended her first-born's graduation also, so she can hardly miss Matthew's. Devon graduated Hogwarts with the highest N.E.W.T. scores ever seen in the school's history and the boy is now one of the most wanted and talented Healers out there. Sloan has to admit he had been concerned about the boy after learning about his existence. At the time he was somewhat relieved when he heard the son of Lord Voldemort was sorted into Ravenclaw, his House, and not the breeding place of all evil called Slytherin.

  


  
Sloan scans the Great Hall for Hermione when his eyes fall on both her sons, Devon and Matthew. The younger boy is not nearly as talented as his older brother, Sloan knows, but still, his grades are acceptable. This is Matthew's last year and the two are talking amicably among one another when their aunt, Professor Jaquenetta Kate Granger, joins them to whisper something into Matthew's ear. Sloan sees Matthew turn his head abruptly and a broad smile emanates on his face. So he follows the boy's, well, man's line of sight and finds Hermione Jean Granger walking casually through the crowds towards her sons.

  


  
Sloan feels she hasn't changed much since the last time he saw her. Her huge bundle of frizz, which has a couple of grey strands in them these days, is worn upwards by some delicate, silver hairpiece and her dark eyes are as intimidating as ever. He can tell by the way the people step out of her path as she glides by. Dark power still oozes of her in waves, but Sloan is no longer worried about it. Jareth seemed to have been correct in assuming Hermione could control it. These days it merely impresses Sloan tremendously. He watches how Hermione hugs and kisses her sons on their cheeks before she turns to her sister and gives her the same treatment. And he can't help but be curious about their conversation, so he pulls one of his Unspeakable instruments out of his pocket and plugs it into his ear.

  


  
'I trust my children haven't given you too much trouble this year?' Hermione asks teasingly.

  


  
'Hmmm…,' Professor Kate Granger says contemplatively. 'I am sorry, sis, but you know … professor-student-confidentiality.'

  


  
Hermione snorts and Matthew laughs loudly.

  


  
A pretty Slytherin girl with long brown hair that falls in smooth curls blocks his reception as she drags along a slightly protesting, tall Hufflepuff boy by his hand. 'Come on, I want you to meet my mother, Cedric,' the girl says determined. 'She doesn't bite, you know.'

  


  
'But your mum is incredibly famous,' the boy mutters, turning a bit pale.

  


  
'Mum!' Sally calls out.

  


  
Hermione turns around and gives her daughter the same welcome before her eyes dart curiously towards the boy Sally has dragged along with her. 'Mum, this is Cedric Diggory. He is my friend.'

  


  
Hermione smiles at the boy and extends her hand. 'Nice to meet you, Cedric,' she says kindly.

  


  
'The pleasure is all mine, Mrs Granger,' Cedric replies firmly, pulling out everything to not appear intimidated, while he shakes Hermione's hand.

  


  
'I went to Hogwarts with a Cedric Diggory. He was a very brave, loyal and kind person. Any kinsman to you?'

  


  
Cedric nods. 'I was named after him. He would have been my uncle from my father's side had he still been alive.'

  


  
'It's a good name to have. You look a lot like him,' Hermione says, eyeing the boy up and down for a moment.

  


  
'Thank you, ma'am,' Cedric replies proudly, while the colour returns to his face upon Hermione's praise. 'My family likes to talk about my uncle a lot and they are very proud of him.'

  


  
'They - you have every right to be. But I trust you will make them proud too.'

  


  
'I will do my very best, but I am not sure I can be that great,' says Cedric humbly.

  


  
'Nonsense,' Sally interrupts bluntly, 'he is gonna be a Prefect next year for sure and his grades are among the highest in our class and…'

  


  
'Not as high as yours,' Cedric says, glancing at Sally caringly.

  


  
The two teenagers look at each other quite smitten and Hermione shares a knowing glance with Kate.

  


  
'Why don't we all sit down?' Kate suggests. 'The Headmistress will begin her speech shortly and I am sure you all want to sit together?'

  


  
'Oh, then I have to go; my mother won't be pleased if I sit elsewhere,' Cedric says apologetically.

  


  
'I hope to see you again some day soon, Cedric. It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance,' Hermione says gently.

  


  
'Thank you, ma'am, I am honoured to have met you. See you later, Sal?'

  


  
Sally nods. 'Absolutely.'

  


  
'Isn't dad coming too?' Matthew asks, while his eyes scan the Great Hall nervously.

  


  
'I am sure he will be, dear. He wouldn't want to miss your graduation for anything in the world,' Hermione replies reassuringly, while they sit down at the centre table in the Great Hall. 'Nice boy,' she says to Sally, who is watching Cedric as he walks away to his family.

  


  
Sally's cheeks turn pink, and she whispers: 'I like him a lot, mum.'

  


  
Sloan sees his stepson walk to Hermione, but he tunes out of her conversation when his wife and her friends sit down next to him. 'There you go,' Tonks says cheerfully, handing him a glass of Firewhisky.

  


  
'What took you so long?' Sloan asks smirking.

  


  
'There is an enormous line in front of the buffet in case you missed it,' says Tonks lightly.

  


  
'She dropped the tray, twice,' her friends say in unison.

  


  
'Tattletales,' Tonks accuses, but her friends merely laugh out loud.

  


  
'Well, this is probably the best drink anyway,' Liam replies, kissing Tonks on the cheek.

  


  
'Aawwww,' her friends mock.

  


  
'That isn't even smooth, Liam,' Ursula taunts.

  


  
'Well, we all know he is such a suck-up,' Eva states.

  


  
'And this is why you two are still single,' Tonks teases right back at them.

  


  
'Ah, you wound us,' Ursula says dramatically, while putting both hands on her chest to indicate the distress she is now in.

  


  
'But not for much longer,' Eva swoons exaggerated.

  


  
'By Godric,' Ursula adds wide-eyed, 'I have found me a husband.'

  


  
'No way, I saw him first; he's mine,' Eva claims.

  


  
'Gay or married,' Tonks interrupts snorting.

  


  
'Crushing our dreams again, Nymphadora,' Ursula adds teasingly.

  


  
'Eh!' Tonks glares at her amused friend. 'I was merely stating that there is no way a hot bloke like that is not taken.'

  


  
'I don't mind sharing. He can have me anywhere, anytime at anyplace,' Eva sighs dreamily.

  


  
Sloan looks around the Great Hall to see who his wife is referring to as hot. 'By the grand doors,' Ursula says, pointing.

  


  
'What are you doing pointing at him like that? He will notice,' Eva says, turning red in the face.

  


  
'That's what I am counting on,' Ursula snorts, and she sticks up her hand in the air to start waving exuberantly.

  


  
But Tonks pulls her arm down laughing. 'Stop teasing Eva, Ursy.'

  


  
'Don't call me Ursy.'

  


  
'When you stop calling me Nymphadora.'

  


  
Sloan zones out of the conversation and concentrates on finding this so-called hot bloke. Even without Ursula having pointed him in the right direction, Liam would have found him easily. There is simply no question as to whom the women are referring to, because the man stands out among all the others supremely. The stranger is a tall, handsome, and black-haired man who is leaning with his shoulder against the doorpost, while his arms are folded over each other in a self-assured manner. Dress robes are falling elegantly around his thin frame and he seems utterly content to be here. It's almost like he is at home instead of being somewhere he has never been before. There is something utterly familiar about him. Yet, Sloan is pretty sure he has not seen him before.

  


  
'Do you see those hot grey bits in his hair? I just love older men,' Eva sighs, practically drooling.

  


  
'Couldn't agree more,' Ursula adds. 'At least they know how to make a woman go…'

  


  
'Ursula,' Tonks interrupts admonishingly, 'there are little children here.'

  


  
'Oh yeah,' Ursula says smirking. 'I totally forgot.'

  


  
'I don't blame you; my mind is going blank also,' Eva says lightly, and both women start laughing softly.

  


  
Tonks shakes her head and looks at Liam. 'Something the matter?'

  


  
'His mind is going blank too,' Ursula snickers.

  


  
Both women roar with laughter and Tonks starts laughing also.

  


  
'There is something familiar about him,' Sloan says contemplatively. 'But I can't put my finger on it.'

  


  
'Ooohhh. When you remember, feel free to introduce him to us,' Eva immediately states.

  


  
'Doesn't he look familiar to you too?' Sloan asks.

  


  
Tonks shrugs her shoulders. 'No, sorry, I think I would have remembered such a nice chunk of bee…'

  


  
'Tonks!' Ursula interrupts in mock shock, 'little children, remember?' she adds, mimicking her friend's previously admonishing tone.

  


  
Tonks grins wickedly. 'Maybe you met him somewhere abroad?' she suggest to Liam.

  


  
'Hmm… that must be it then,' Liam states unsure.

  


  
'I wonder what he is looking at,' Ursula says questioningly. 'I haven't seen his eyes move for a second. They're almost transfixed on one spot.'

  


  
Everybody at the table is now turning their heads to see where the unknown wizard is gazing at. Sloan's eyes halt at the Granger table where Hermione is still in conversation with Ted Lupin. Suddenly, she halts and turns her head. A small smirk forms on her face when she sees the man everyone at Sloan's table is going weak in the knees about.

  


  
'If you'll excuse me, Minister,' Hermione says courteously as she rises out of her chair.

  


  
'Certainly, it was good to see you again,' Ted replies.

  


  
A devious expression roams over Hermione's face as she makes her way to the stranger who is watching her intensely. 'Afraid to come in, Thomas?' Hermione asks mischievously.

  


  
'No, just enjoying the view,' Thomas replies quietly, while his eyes glance over his wife's body appreciatively.

  


  
'Want a little twirl, so you can examine my back as well?'

  


  
Thomas smirks and extends his arm to pull Hermione against him around her waist. 'Perhaps you can give me a more private show later,' he suggest smoothly.

  


  
'Perhaps,' Hermione replies teasingly, leaving the option open. 'Sloan is here.'

  


  
'I noticed.'

  


  
'I told Bechard to keep him busy abroad. I swear when I go to Canada tonight, he'd better run and hide far, far away from me, because I am going to…'

  


  
Thomas cups Hermione's head and kisses her extensively.

  


  
'Oh shoot,' Eva says.

  


  
'Told you he was taken,' Tonks says triumphantly.

  


  
'Let's kill her,' Ursula says conspiringly to Eva.

  


  
Tonks snorts. 'Good luck,' she mocks before turning to her husband. 'Maybe you saw a picture of him when you visited Hermione's mansion, and that's why he seems familiar to you?'

  


  
Sloan nods absentmindedly, but in the back of his mind he is not satisfied with the explanation his wife gave him, and he keeps wondering about the identity of the man he now knows to be Thomas Granger. He wishes he had asked Hermione what his original family's name was.

  


  
When the Granger couple break apart, Thomas caresses Hermione's face gently. 'So, why don't you take me to my illustrious Gryffindor-graduating son, wife?' he orders.

  


  
'Yes, why don't I?' Hermione repeats, smirking before turning around and moving calmly back to the table.

  


  
A hand quickly falls possessively at her side and she can feel the warmth of her husband's body behind her. When she looks over her shoulder up to Thomas questioningly, his breath brushes her cheek as he whispers in her ear. 'Such a cute, little arse you have there, Mrs Granger, I just have to make sure people know it is mine.'

  


  
Hermione tilts her head backward and a short laugh escapes her mouth. 'You're irredeemable,' she grins.

  


  
'I would hope so, because you would be running for the hills if I turned into a good boy.'

  


  
'You, a good boy, that'll be the day,' Hermione mocks.

  


  
They reach the table. 'Dad, you made it,' Matthew says, and he can't hide the twinge of relief from his voice.

  


  
'Of course, I wouldn't miss your graduation for anything in the world. Besides, I just love celebrating the death of Lord Voldemort,' Thomas states loosely.

  


  
Matthew and Sally start laughing, and Kate practically chokes in her wine. 'Don't push it, hon,' Hermione whispers warningly.

  


  
Thomas pulls a stray strand of hair from her face. 'Everyone who knew my old appearance is dead, dear; no one knows who I am,' he mentally tells her reassuringly.

  


  
'You never know what people are able to determine from the remarks you make, and I would rather avoid all hell breaking lose,' Hermione responds mentally too, while pulling back her seat.

  


  
'Did you forget I was coming?' Thomas asks deviously.

  


  
'What?' Hermione replies dumbfounded.

  


  
'Or am I supposed to sit in your lap now?'

  


  
'No, there is...,' Hermione halts, while she stares around the table, which suddenly lacks another chair, and she is absolutely positive it was there a moment ago.

  


  
'You can be such a… Oh,' Hermione cries out softly in surprise when two strong arms wrap around her waist and pull her into the chair on Thomas' lap.

  


  
'Just where you belong, sweetheart,' his voice sounds in her mind, while his arms firmly press her against him.

  


  
Hermione shakes her head, sighing. 'I am way too old to be sitting in somebody's lap,' she mentally scolds him.

  


  
But it doesn't escape Thomas' attention that Hermione cuddles quite comfortable against him and that she places her hands on his arms, rubbing them softly.

  


  
'The beauty of immortality is that one will never be too old to do anything. Besides, age is no longer an issue for us, since you isolated the reason behind my skin not-ageing from the baseline-altering Transfiguration I performed in the past,' Thomas continues in her mind. 'So, you will always be young and hot when you do my bidding, my little one.'

  


  
Hermione turns her head and looks back up at him. 'Do your bidding? Only in your dreams,' she taunts mentally, and their eyes lock meaningfully.

  


  
It's when Headmistress Escada calls everyone's attention and starts her speech. Hermione turns to the podium and listens to the Headmistress, while leaning back against Thomas' chest. His chin comes to rest on her head and Hermione squeezes his arm caringly.

  


  
'One has to appreciate the irony of me sitting here right now,' Thomas whispers smoothly after a while.

  


  
'You are so enjoying this, aren't you?' Hermione responds, snorting.

  


  
'Can't say I ain't,' Thomas snickers. 'I so love to hear all about my evil deeds and how I got what I deserved. I have to say I totally agree with the Headmistress there.' And he pulls Hermione tighter against him. 'I got you, and you will always be mine, Granger.'

  


  
'I've told you a thousand times I am my own person.'

  


  
'Really?' Thomas teasingly asks. A brush of magic hits her and Hermione can just stifle a moan. 'Are you sure that delicious body is just yours, dearest? Because it, sure as hell, is responding quite admirably to my commands.'

  


  
Hermione squirms in Thomas' lap. 'Stop it,' she mentally hisses. 'There are like a zillion people here.'

  


  
'Who are all too ignorant to notice anything; even if I were to slam your delectable person on the table right now and shag you thoroughly, they'll all remain totally unaware of our actions.'

  


  
'Have I not told you that it is due to your arrogance that you screw up over and over again? Besides, I am pretty sure the children will catch on to what we are doing and that is so not a visual I'd want to burn on their retinas.'

  


  
'They won't be able to notice if you use your magic too, little one,' Thomas mischievously adds. 'So…'

  


  
'I'd listen to mum if I were you, dad,' Devon tauntingly states in their minds. 'I don't mind, but Sally and Anthony still have to go to school here and I think…'

  


  
'Will you get out of our minds this instance, young man, and focus on your own date,' Thomas hisses mentally.

  


  
'I would love to stay out of that perverted mind of yours, dad. But if you don't tone down the strength of your Legilimency, it is kind of hard to avoid doing so.'

  


  
Hermione has just the presence of mind to cast a quick Muffliato before a full-blown outburst of laughter leaves her mouth.

  


  
The rest of the end-of-term feast moves on smoothly. After the official part was over, the children made themselves scarce to dance and talk to their friends before the holiday starts. Hermione winks reassuringly at Matthew in the distance who keeps on glancing at his N.E.W.T. scores. The fact that he isn't coming by the table to share his knowledge of his grades is more than telling. So Hermione decides to let him be, until Matthew has come to terms with it himself. Thomas has got himself a chair of his own, and many people come by Hermione's table to say hi, shake her hand and meet her husband. A charming smile is on Thomas' face when he talks to yet another person exited to meet them; a very, clingy person.

  


  
'Those wedding rings of you and your wife are just so gorgeous. It's not often I see gold matched with emerald stones, but it works perfectly. And the design…'

  


  
The lady chats on, and Hermione has tried numerous times to gently get her to leave. Thomas has already zoned out of the conversation ages ago and a somewhat desperate Hermione signals to Kate for help. Her sister smirks and winks teasingly before she takes pity on them both. Kate intervenes smoothly, hooks her arm in the older lady's arm and moves her away forcefully, giving Hermione and Thomas some breathing space and by doing so she prevents certain death and a very likely massacre. Hermione sighs.

  


  
'I think we can leave soon,' Thomas says softly, rubbing Hermione's neck.

  


  
'We have to wait a bit longer,' Hermione replies, 'for Matthew.'

  


  
She nods at Matthew's frowning figure, while he glances over and over again at his N.E.W.T. scores on the parchment. Suddenly, the parchment gets tucked away in his pocket quickly, because a couple of girls stop beside Matthew and Devon and start engaging in a conversation with them.

  


  
'Oh look who is hiding his E in Defence quickly,' Thomas says grinning.

  


  
'There is nothing wrong with getting an E,' Hermione huffs.

  


  
'Touchy subject, dear? Thomas teases, and she notices him move upward.

  


  
Hermione grabs a hold of her husband's arm, effectively stopping his advance out of the chair and she notices his raised eyebrows at her action. 'Where are you going?'

  


  
'I thought I'd go see my son and…'

  


  
'You are not going to tease him with his grades.'

  


  
'I am not?' Thomas responds, wondering in which universe that remote possibility is going to happen when his wife's abrupt and stern _no_ crashes in. Swiftly, he moves toward her and he places both his hands on each side of the armrests on Hermione's chair, towering over her. 'But Matthew gets this cute, little wrinkle in his forehead when I do - just like his mother. Oh yes, there it is,' he mocks, rubbing his index finger over Hermione's forehead.

  


  
Hermione rolls her eyes and sighs. 'Why don't you go over there and tell your son you love him and are proud of him.'

  


  
Thomas glances sideways at the group that is now surrounding Devon and Matthew. 'Lord Voldemort will not go over there and make a fool of himself and his son.'

  


  
'Then, Lord Voldemort will not be getting any tonight,' Hermione decides.

  


  
'Oh, Granger, that is just vicious.'

  


  
'You know how insecure Matthew is of his own capabilities. He feels left out, being the only one of his siblings who can't talk to snakes - like you do, and he looks up to you. He wants to be like his father, but he continuously thinks he's not living up to your expectations by being lesser than Devon.'

  


  
'I never said he is lesser than Devon. He is just as important to me as the others, maybe even a bit more, because he resembles his mother in so many ways,' Thomas responds, winking at Hermione, before he does an uncanny representation of her and Matthew. 'But it says so right here in this book.'

  


  
Hermione laughs. 'I know you don't see it that way, dear. I am telling you how he feels.'

  


  
'Well, that is just silly.'

  


  
'Silly or not, now is not the time to tease him with his one E.'

  


  
'Hmmm…,' Thomas says frowning, and he tries to walk away.

  


  
'What are you planning?' Hermione asks, grabbing his arm again.

  


  
'I am going to make Matthew feel good about himself,' Thomas responds smiling, and he pats her on the cheek reassuringly. 'Trust me.'

  


  
'Oh dear Lord.'

  


  
'Exactly,' Thomas smirks.

  


  
'I've got our drinks,' Kate says, holding the tray up to Thomas as he passes. 'Where is he going?'

  


  
Hermione merely points, while accepting her glass.

  


  
'Oh of course, Matthew has got some really good grades.'

  


  
'Hmmm… hmmm…' Hermione nods absentmindedly, while watching her husband pull Matthew smoothly aside to talk to him.

  


  
'Sally is better in Defence though. She really is quick with a wand, like Devon. Though I had to lecture her a thousand times on the appropriateness of some of the spells she uses,' Kate chats. 'Where is she anyway? I haven't seen her in the Great Hall ever since the official part of the ceremony was over.'

  


  
'She left with that Hufflepuff boy,' Hermione explains.

  


  
Kate snorts. 'Oh, then I should probably thank Sal for sparing us and the Diggory family the drama by dancing with him in front of Thomas. Poor Cedric wouldn't know what hit him. He's an okay boy though: nice, polite, loyal, very civil and gallant, a real Hufflepuff. Sally's got great taste.'

  


  
Hermione hardly hears a thing Kate is rambling about, because she is still monitoring the exchange between father and son. Thomas has both his hands placed on Matthew's shoulders and Hermione smiles when she sees the flush on Matthew's face. He is practically glowing with pride when his father swirls away. 'You're good,' Hermione mumbles to herself.

  


  
'What was that?' Kate asks.

  


  
'Nothing.'

  


  
'My favourite ladies,' Thomas charmingly states. 'Would one of you take pity on a poor lonely handsome fellow and dance with him?'

  


  
Kate immediately checks the Great Hall. 'Handsome? Where - where?' she asks excitedly, while looking underneath the table to find this yet-to-be-identified male.

  


  
Hermione laughs out loud, while Thomas nods condescendingly to Kate. 'Why you, young lady, just missed out on your once in a lifetime opportunity to waltz around the dance floor with a professional,' he responds haughtily, pulling the laughing Hermione out of her chair and swirling away with her.

  


  
'Watch out for those toes of yours, Mione,' Kate calls out after them.

  


  
'So what did you say to Matthew?' Hermione inquires, while being guided effortlessly through all the dancing couples by Thomas.

  


  
'I shall never reveal my secrets,' Thomas replies pompously, twirling her around and Hermione throws her head back and laughs.

  


  
Their hips joined, they almost seem to float across the floor. Hermione looks up at the two darkest eyes that ever watched her and her heart skips a beat. Under influence of his intense gaze she attempts to pull herself closer to him, but there already is no more room between them to spare. Thomas has a tight hold of her waist and no intention of letting go. He pulls her right hand to their bodies also and they dance on, having only eyes for each other. As the music ends they twirl at the centre of the floor, before waiting for the next song to start in a tight embrace.

  


  
'Using magic to prevent a collision is a bit cheating, Thomas,' Hermione says smiling.

  


  
'I say it's using your strongest qualities to the best of their advantage.'

  


  
Hermione groans and her head lands on his chest. A kiss falls on her hair as the music starts. They continue to dance when Hermione notices Sloan stare at them with a deep frown on his face. And she starts another conversation with her husband in their minds. 'I think we'd better go,' she says concerned, as they swirl across the floor.

  


  
'How come?'

  


  
'Sloan seems to take too deep an interest in us.'

  


  
'Sloan, pffttt… We can take…'

  


  
'I don't want to take him on. Let's go before he figures it out,' Hermione demands, and she drags Thomas of the dance floor. 'Besides, I still have that issue in Canada to sort out,' she adds vengefully.

  


  
Thomas pulls her back in his arms and halts their forward motion. 'Relax, Hermione, no one knows who I am. And we really needn't worry about the likes of Sloan.'

  


  
'Sloan is not stupid. He will put two and two together if you continue to act so Voldemortish,' Hermione hisses.

  


  
'Voldemortish?' Thomas snorts. 'Care to elaborate?'

  


  
'This,' Hermione explains, 'this taking a hold of me and stopping me from moving and such.'

  


  
'But you like it if…'

  


  
'Now is not the time. We are going,' Hermione, bossily, speaks in their mind.

  


  
'Yes, Mistress,' Thomas mocks snickering.

  


  
Sloan stares at the couple that is leaving the Great Hall with a serious expression. His eyes, slowly, fall back on Devon and he frowns. The resemblance is just too big to be a coincidence. Unlike others, Sloan is very much aware of the identity of the Devon's biological father and he knows Hermione's current husband isn't supposed to be Devon's real father. The moment Hermione and Thomas are both completely gone from the premises, Sloan rises from his chair. Quickly, he walks over to Tonks and Ted Lupin.

  


  
'Minister, I am sorry to interrupt, but I am afraid I have some bad news,' he says.

  


  
Contemplatively and in reminiscence, "Thomas" strolls through Diagon Alley. His mind goes back to the first week after Hermione resurrected him. Well, she did find good use for Hades' powers very quickly, he has to hand her that. He saw it all in her mind when she wasn't paying attention. How she collected his body from Jareth at the monastery, how she fused both stones together above it and how she reclaimed the part of his soul that was inside of her, counting on the fact that it couldn't have been killed since she and by default his soul-fragment wore the Amulet of Aine at the time Le Fay's killer curse struck the Horcrux. He had to give a part of himself, because it was basically what Maglor was, credit for a job well done. The Amulet turned out to be a terrific Philosopher Stone.

  


  
Still, it wouldn't have worked if Hermione hadn't used every bit of dark force inside of her to summon his soul and reconnect it with his body to give it life again. He was thrilled when he opened his eyes that day, only to get punched in the face, because … "he had upset her by dying". An amused smirk accompanies that memory, because really, Lord Voldemort dying... A mocking laugh leaves his lips. Pfttt… such a ridiculous thought, he is sure nobody in their right mind would have believed it to be true.

  


  
However, being back among the living confronted him with the problem of getting a new identity or rather the more horrid task of making up a new name. He just couldn't choose at all. Nothing felt right. He was Lord Voldemort, plain and simple. It had taken him long enough to make up the anagram in the first place. So, he kept weighing his options, while Hermione began to call him all kinds of names teasingly. He-Who-Can-Not-Find-Names-For-Himself, You-Should-Know-By-Now, and the most obnoxious one: Thomas!

  


  
She started calling him that every time he told her _no_ when she bugged him for a name to place on the phoney identification papers she had nicked. And then she started calling him that on other occasions as well. After which she began to use it over and over again, every minute of every bleeding day, week after week after week, whenever she had the opportunity, which was often. She did it just to irritate him, he is sure of that. And she was succeeding very well to that end, at first. He can't really remember when the name became stuck in his mind too. Trickery, little Gryffindor.

  


  
But he has to admit that he kind of likes it when she calls him Thomas, and he also doesn't mind _much_ if Rose or Kate uses it, because they tend to say it with the appropriate amount of respect. Of course, Hugo is a completely different story. His eyes flash red whenever he thinks of Hermione's arrogant father. But he knows he will get every Granger woman on his back if he kills Hugo, so he refrains from the impulse. The man simply isn't worth the trouble it will put him through. So, family can call him Thomas without making him cringe inwardly, but whenever someone else says it, his wand-hand twitches. Yes, last night at Hogwarts was trying. He kept having the desire to "Thomas" everyone to blazes.

  


  
Slowly, Lord Voldemort walks back to the Leaky Cauldron and the room he and Hermione currently inhabit there. It's around eight o'clock in the evening. The shops are closed, so the alley is quiet. No one comes here after closing hours normally. But he needed a walk to stretch his legs and he just felt like taking a look here, until Hermione returns back from her business abroad in Canada and they can go on their much needed holiday together, while Sally and Anthony stay over at their grandparents. He has this terrific…

  


  
A sudden flash blinds him severely, and next, he is surrounded by Aurors and Unspeakables who all have their wands drawn anxiously. A condescending snort escapes his mouth and he waves his hand lazily at them. To his surprise, his curse hits an invisible wall around him and extinguishes. His dark eyes dart down to the small box on the pavement he had not noticed before.

  


  
'Clever, Sloan,' he says to the Unspeakable who steps forward. 'I trust the force of the Confinement Charm that thing evokes equals the magical powers of the wizard it imprisons?'

  


  
'It draws on your magic to keep its shield active, my Lord,' Sloan replies courteously. 'The more force you place behind your magic the tougher the shield becomes.'

  


  
'Well, you were always quite effective in doing your job, Sloan. So, Hermione was right in assuming you recognised me at the feast in Hogwarts,' Lord Voldemort says calmly, folding his arms over each other.

  


  
'Yes, I did, and whatever magical control you are using to keep her imprisoned by your side ends here today,' Sloan states firmly.

  


  
A small smile appears on the Dark Lord's face. 'You think I am forcing her to remain with me?' he says amused. 'Oh well…' He shrugs. 'So, what's next?'

  


  
'You will now be escorted back to the Ministry, where you will be formally charged, then sent to Azkaban to await trail,' Sloan explains.

  


  
'Ah, yes,' Voldemort replies smirking, and he conjures up a luxurious armchair and sits down lazily. 'I thought we might hit that little snag.'

  


  
'Snag,' Tonks sneers. 'You are done for, Voldemort. We got you. I see no snag.'

  


  
'Well,' Voldemort replies apologetically. 'I am afraid I do.'

  


  
'Oh, really?'

  


  
'Yes, really,' Voldemort mimics. He crosses his legs by placing his right ankle on his left knee, and he rest his left arm on the back of his chair to indicate how utterly comfortable he is with the current situation. 'Tell me, how exactly were you planning to move me to the Ministry and Azkaban?'

  


  
'You will throw your wand down…,' and it becomes utterly silent.

  


  
'I am so glad I don't have to explain the little flaw in your plan there,' Voldemort mocks. 'You can't move that box without disturbing its shield powers. And I can't believe you were all under the delusion that I would _come quietly_. You see I have absolutely no desire to go to Azkaban. I could break out, of course, but what a waste of my time, and frankly, I can think of a whole host of things I would rather be doing.'

  


  
'Your curses may not go out of the confinement box you're in, but ours will certainly enter,' Sloan states warningly. 'You may want to reconsider surrender. There is no way you can block all of us.'

  


  
Slowly, Lord Voldemort turns his head, while he makes a mock counting motion with two fingers of his right hand to the people around him. 'Only twenty-one, I am somewhat insulted,' he says snorting. 'Liam Sloan, I thank you for your concern, but I think I'll manage.'

  


  
Sloan nods, and immediately numerous Stunning Charms are flying in the direction of the Dark Lord. But Lord Voldemort doesn't even flinch when he blocks them all with a bored wave of his hand. Stretching his arms out above his head, he yawns tiresomely. It's when one of the Aurors steps forward with a vengeful glint in his eyes. 'I know something you can't block, you arsehole,' he spats. 'Avada Kedavra!'

  


  
'Expelliarmus!' Sloan casts shocked, but his Disarmament Spell reaches the Auror too late and Liam catches the Auror's wand after the Unforgivable is already flying towards Lord Voldemort.

  


  
The Dark Lord freezes in his stretching position and the jet of green impacts on his chest full force. Sloan turns to the Auror pointing his wand straight at him. 'You're under arrest for murder, Evan Lestrange,' Liam says calmly. 'Duncan, take him away.'

  


  
'Sloan,' Duncan says apprehensively, and he points to the Dark Lord whom Sloan assumes to be dead, _again_.

  


  
It's utterly silent when Lord Voldemort slowly lowers his arms and looks down at his chest quite interested. 'It actually works,' he says grinning.

  


  
A gasp leaves Sloan's mouth and several others are merely staring at his lordship in bafflement.

  


  
'Thank you for being just as foolish as your parents … _Evan Lestrange_ , but I am afraid you will never be in a position to avenge them,' Voldemort says tauntingly. 'However, I am quite grateful for your attempt. I didn't dare to test it myself in case I was mistaken, but now I know I have truly become immune to that despicable concept called mortality and I have also overcome the nasty side-effect of losing my body over and over again, which I must say did become quite tiring to experience.'

  


  
Evan tries to lunge at Voldemort, but Sloan petrifies the man before he can enter the box. 'Fool, do you want to hand him a hostage?' Duncan snarls at his colleague.

  


  
'Duncan,' Sloan interrupts, 'Evan Lestrange is still under arrest.'

  


  
'But he is not dead,' Duncan rebuts, pointing at the Dark Lord outraged.

  


  
'Attempted murder is also a crime,' Sloan says calmly. 'Now, if you will be so kind as to…'

  


  
'Crack!'

  


  
A wave of magic swirls around Diagon Alley as Hermione Apparates in. With a blank expression on her face, she takes in the situation before her. Tonks walks towards her and gives her a hug. 'We're so sorry, Hermione, we had no idea. We thought…'

  


  
'What is going on here?' Hermione asks softly, unwrapping herself from Tonks' embrace, and looking at Sloan questioningly.

  


  
'Dora is right, Hermione. We duly apologise for not realising the predicament you were in. But now you will be free from the Dark Lord as everybody else has been for the past twenty-five years,' Sloan explains.

  


  
'I see,' Hermione replies slowly, and she glances at her husband who gives her a small amused wave from his comfortable seating position.

  


  
'Good to see you, my dear,' says Lord Voldemort with a wink.

  


  
'Don't talk to her like that, you monster,' Tonks hisses furiously, halting in front of the raised confinement ward. 'She is not yours. She never was.'

  


  
Voldemort merely arches his eyebrows in response, while Hermione focuses her attention on Sloan and she gazes directly into the Unspeakable's eyes. 'Is this all the support you got to take him to Azkaban?'

  


  
'Yes,' Sloan says sighing. 'I need to get some more help it seems. I would appreciate your assistance in this matter.'

  


  
'What makes you think I am on your side in this?' Hermione asks smoothly.

  


  
The entire group stares at her in bafflement, but then, she moves her wand out in a swift motion. 'Confringo!' Hermione casts.

  


  
And with a deafening blast, the box that holds Lord Voldemort prisoner explodes into a million pieces. In a split-second, he is on his feet, and before anyone has a chance to even blink an eye, they are out cold on the floor. All except for Sloan, whom Hermione is holding in a tight grip, while her wand is pressed in his throat. 'So, it appears we have to have a little chat, Liam,' Hermione hisses in his ear.

  


  
Magically, she swings him around and he drops down on his knees before her. 'Legilimency!' she casts with so much force Sloan is unable to keep her out. When she finally exits his mind, he crashes to the floor perspiring and trembling.

  


  
'Beside this little group only the Minister of Magic knows,' Hermione says coldly, 'and I can get to Ted Lupin easily.'

  


  
'Sloan always makes records as a fail-safe in case someone Obliviates him,' Voldemort replies quietly, and he takes a hold of the panting Unspeakable's hair and pulls his head backward. 'Don't you, Liam?' he snarls. 'Care to save yourself the nasty experience again and tell us beforehand where you hid the papers, Liam?'

  


  
'I am afraid it is beyond your reach,' Liam states triumphantly. 'Whatever you two do here won't matter. Others will hear that you are still alive.'

  


  
'Is that so,' Voldemort says quietly, and he looks up at Hermione who is just done Obliviating everyone.

  


  
Hermione folds her arms over each other and smiles at her husband. 'Well, considering I just kicked Bechard's arse, I am sure he will move quickly if I tell him to execute things. So if you want, I can take over the world for you again,' she suggests snickering.

  


  
'Eww…,' Lord Voldemort replies in disgust and he makes a dismissive wave with his hand at the suggestion. 'Then, I'd have to listen to all that whining again and deal with the idiocy that is so commonly present in everybody.'

  


  
Hermione snorts and looks at Sloan. 'So, where are those beyond-our-reach papers, Liam dear?' she mocks.

  


  
Within a flash, she is back in his mind and sees the vault in the Department of Mysteries he placed the documents in. Sloan loses consciousness from this second assault of his mind and crashes to the ground again when Voldemort lets go of his hair. 'Damn,' Hermione swears.

  


  
Lord Voldemort looks at his wife with concern as she steps back and concentrates. 'Are you sure you want to go about it that way?' he interrupts her.

  


  
Hermione halts and nods. 'He placed them inside one of their Unreachable Vaults. There is no other way. Only Le Fay's powers can reach in there. Fortunately, even in this liberal and advanced day and age, the Wizarding World keeps underestimating Elfin powers,' she replies calmly before she swirls her arms above her head and chants in the ancient tongue of Everon.

  


  
Dark clouds crowd up the sky and a freezing cold breathes through the air. The ground starts shaking and a black mist whirls around Hermione. A crackling noise takes over the alley before a thundering roar accompanies a black flash, and then, there is silence. Hermione stands motionless for a moment before opening her eyes contently.

  


  
'It's destroyed,' she states unruffled.

  


  
'Obliviate!' Voldemort casts at Sloan, before observing Hermione with equanimity. 'Why don't you go ahead to your parents,' he suggests, walking towards his wife and taking her in his arms possessively. 'I'll go and Obliviate this bit of information from Ted Lupin's mind.'

  


  
Hermione frowns. 'He is the Minister of Magic. His personal guards will…'

  


  
'Not be a problem for me,' Voldemort finishes and he strokes Hermione's face gently. 'You drew on a large amount of the Arts to destroy those documents, Hermione. I think you better get some rest before those dark forces consume you whole.'

  


  
Hermione nods contemplatively. 'I suppose it would be advisable if I refrained from using more magic for awhile,' she replies softly, placing her arms around his neck.

  


  
'My thoughts exactly,' Lord Voldemort agrees, kissing her extensively.

  


  
'However,' Hermione says, withdrawing from his kiss reluctantly, 'if I go with you, there is a good chance Ted will just let us in and you won't need to harm those guards.'

  


  
'You will find that I am perfectly capable of charming my way past them, Hermione. Besides…'

  


  
'I can't wait to see it,' Hermione interrupts smirking, while pulling him closer to her. 'I have to use magic to Apparate to my parents,' she quickly adds as an excuse when she sees the irritation in Voldemort's eyes.

  


  
'Alright, you have a point there,' he concedes. 'So, I'll take you with me, but – but,' he repeats sternly, glaring at the triumphant expression on Hermione's face, 'you will not interfere and you are not to use a single bit of magic,' he orders.

  


  
'Yes, Master,' Hermione mocks timidly, which gets an entertained glance as a response.

  


  
'Well, not having to use magic is the general idea behind me coming with you,' she adds mischievously.

  


  
Lord Voldemort rolls his eyes. A Memory-Modifying Charm is cast to give the unconscious group of people an excuse for being here. After which he tightens his grip on Hermione's waist. 'Hold on,' he orders, and he Apparates away.

  


  
Sally and Cedric are sitting in quite an intimate embrace on the couch, kissing each other exuberantly. They are all alone, because Rose left the living room a moment ago to check if Hugo and Anthony, who had gone to the old dental practice, wanted something to drink as well. Sally has cast a Homenum Revelio Alert Charm on their surroundings that will make them aware when Rose returns, and the two are now taking full advantage of the fact that they have the room all to themselves. However, Sally has overlooked one tiny factor in her foolproof plan.

  


  
Crack!

  


  
Both her parents Apparate into the Granger's living room. As if they are stung by bees both teenagers fly apart, but the damage has already been done. Cedric's face turns incredibly red, while Sally stares in absolute horror at her father who immediately lets go of Hermione with a murderous glint in his eyes.

  


  
'Well, Sally, do you care to introduce me to this boy who thinks it is alright to examine my daughter's tonsils?' Lord Voldemort asks quietly, and he takes a threatening step in the direction of the couch.

  


  
'His name is Cedric Diggory, hon,' answers Hermione, because Sally's mouth is merely gaping without producing any sound whatsoever and Cedric seems unable to speak either.

  


  
'Really?' Voldemort says happily. 'How appropriate. It seems you are going to have around the same life expectancy as your namesake,' and he flips out his wand. The boy freezes up in the couch and turns utterly pale.

  


  
'Dad!' Sally shouts shocked, and she jumps between Cedric and her father while glancing at her mother for help.

  


  
'Try not to make a mess of the room, Thomas. My mother is quite fond of that sofa,' Hermione says casually.

  


  
'Mum!'

  


  
'Out of my way, Sal,' Voldemort calmly orders.

  


  
'No, I am not a little kid anymore. I am fifteen turning sixteen in October. You can't boss me around like I am some baby. I am old enough to give my boyfriend a kiss if I want to. Besides, you are such a hypocrite. You never said anything about Matthew and Devon snogging their girlfriends when they were my age,' she hisses furiously.

  


  
'Oh, she's got you there,' Hermione tells her husband snickering in his mind.

  


  
Stoically, Lord Voldemort examines the room. 'Matthew and Devon never used magic on their Muggle grandparents, Sal. I must say it doesn't give me much confidence in your maturity that you did. Or do you have some great excuse for the residue of the alert charm that lingers here?'

  


  
'Matthew and Devon were not sorted into Slytherin, Thomas,' Hermione mentally adds very amused. 'They lack the necessary cunning needed for deception and…'

  


  
'Very funny, dear,' Voldemort interrupts back mentally.

  


  
'I just didn't want to upset Granny; she is old,' Sally mutters, shuffling on her feet uncomfortably.

  


  
It's when Cedric, apparently, has got over the initial shock of the situation and makes it to his feet, pulling Sally aside. 'I am sorry about my behaviour, Sir. I meant no disrespect to your family.' And he holds out his hand towards Lord Voldemort apologetically.

  


  
'Cedric,' Sally hisses, slapping his hand away. 'We were only kissing. There is nothing wrong with what we did.'

  


  
'No, your father is right,' Cedric says calmly to Sally. 'We shouldn't have taken advantage of the fact that your grandmother is unable to detect the use of magic.'

  


  
For a brief second, Hermione and Lord Voldemort share an impressed glance between each other. 'At least he didn't allow Sally to take all the heat. The boy has balls,' he mentally says.

  


  
'I like him,' Hermione replies.

  


  
'I wouldn't go that far,' Voldemort mumbles, which causes Hermione to laugh elaborately in his mind. But he can't reply to her mocking laugh, because Cedric has turned back toward him once more and is holding out his hand again.

  


  
'Hermione! Thomas!' Rose says happily, entering the room. 'You're early. Sally dear, can you help me out here?'

  


  
Sally, quickly, moves over to take the tray from her grandmother and while she puts it on the table, Voldemort takes full advantage of the disappearance of Sally. He accepts Cedric's hand and shakes it. Hermione notices how he threateningly moves a step toward the boy, places his other hand on Cedric's shoulder, and whispers something in his ear. Diggory's eyes turn quite wide, and he nods timidly.

  


  
'Wonderful,' Voldemort says out loud. 'I'm so glad we understand each other, Mr Diggory.'

  


  
Hermione smirks, and Sally looks quite suspiciously at her father who walks away to say hello to Rose.

  


  
Rose gives him a hug before she turns to her daughter. 'Hermione, it's so good to see you again,' her mother says, kissing her. 'But you look a bit pale, dear. Are you alright?'

  


  
Voldemort immediately steps in and lifts Hermione's chin to gaze into her eyes intensely. 'I am fine, Thomas,' Hermione says a bit irritated. 'I am just tired.'

  


  
'Are you sure it's nothing else, Hermione?' he asks frowning.

  


  
'Yes,' Hermione says in a tone that clearly tells him to drop the subject. 'Where are dad and Anthony?'

  


  
Rose looks a bit confused at her daughter before replying: 'They are in our old practice. Anthony wanted to see it again.'

  


  
'I'll go say hi to them then,' Hermione says, determined to get away from this kind of scrutiny.

  


  
'What happened?' Rose asks Thomas concerned.

  


  
'We ran into a bit of a situation with the authorities concerning my identity, hence our early arrival. Don't worry it has been dealt with.'

  


  
Hermione closes the door behind her as fast as she can. Really, all that mothering over her can be so annoying at times. She is fifty-three for Pete's sake. But a broad smile erupts back on her face as she sees Anthony sitting in her father's lap asking a thousand questions excitedly. 'And what is that?'

  


  
'That is a scaler tip for calculus removal. It helps to make sure people won't get cavities.'

  


  
'And why do you have a flame?'

  


  
'That is to sterilise our instruments. So we can use them again and not make other people ill.'

  


  
'Can I try?'

  


  
'Sure, we just put the scaler tip on this and then you move it through the flame,' Hugo explains calmly and he hands Anthony the instrument. 'Very good,' he praises.

  


  
Anthony looks back up at him, but then, he sees his mother standing in the doorway. 'Look mummy, I am going to be a dentist just like grandpapa.'

  


  
'I can see that,' Hermione says impressed. 'You already know how to use the instruments.'

  


  
'U-hu. And I know how to activate the drill,' Anthony says enthusiastically, showing her immediately.

  


  
The sound makes Hermione wince despite herself and Hugo laughs, while placing Anthony in the dentist's chair. 'You see this?' Hugo asks and hands Anthony another instrument. 'Hold on.' Quickly, he places several small objects, that used to be gifts to little children who came to the practice, across the table. 'Now why don't you try to shoot them all off?'

  


  
'With this?' Anthony asks puzzled.

  


  
'Yes, look,' Hugo demonstrates, aiming at a small giraffe. A burst of compressed wind leaves the instrument and the giraffe flies through the air, landing a few feet away on the ground. 'You think you can shoot further than me?'

  


  
'Yes!' Anthony says excitedly and he holds out his hand.

  


  
Smiling, Hugo walks to Hermione. 'He is just as interested in all this stuff as you were,' he says joyously. 'How have you been?'

  


  
'I'm good, dad.'

  


  
'You don't look well to me. Is that man treating you alright?'

  


  
'It's not Thomas, dad. We – we just had a hard day,' she says, glaring over his shoulder to make sure Anthony isn't hearing them. But the boy is too entranced in shooting the figurines through the air. 'Sloan figured out Thomas is Lord Voldemort, and well, he tried to arrest him to imprison him in Azkaban.'

  


  
Hugo shakes his head as he looks at his daughter. 'That was bound to happen someday, Hermione, and I can't say I blame this Sloan fellow. I find it a bit incomprehensible that you are okay with this situation. I mean his followers went to jail, while he goes unpunished.'

  


  
'Unpunished?' Hermione replies, shaking her head too. 'You really think that, dad? You don't think that being cursed by Morgan Le Fay before he was even born is punishment enough? You think that living your life in darkness without the capability of feeling love is a pleasurable experience?'

  


  
Hugo looks at his daughter sadly. 'I have never said the man had it easy, but this is the path he chose to walk. He shouldn't have dragged you into it. But here you are, paying for his crimes.'

  


  
'Everon wasn't his invention, dad. He was just as much a victim of it as the rest of us. And I had to stop Le Fay or we all would have been off so much worse. You have no idea to the amount of dark force she was capable of wielding.'

  


  
'So, you have to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders? I don't claim to understand your world fully, Hermione, because I probably never will. But all I know is that my little girl deserves something and someone a hell of lot better. You should have helped that Sloan bloke. You could have, at least, been free of him.'

  


  
'Dad, can we not do this again, please?'

  


  
'No, Hermione, this is not how I raised you,' Hugo says, raising his voice.

  


  
'Grandpa! I did it!' Anthony interrupts them happily. 'My elephant has gone further than your giraffe!'

  


  
Both adults halt in their argument. Hugo turns around and nods approvingly. 'I see. You know your mother has once hit the wall with a hippo.'

  


  
'Really?' Anthony says frowning. 'I can do that too,' he mutters determined and continues his play.

  


  
Hugo turns around and Hermione can tell by the look in his eyes he isn't nearly done ranting at her. 'Muffliato,' she casts quickly.

  


  
'You could have been with a man capable of truly loving you; a man worthy of you, like that Ronald or Harry you used to talk about so often. Why do you stay with that…?'

  


  
'I love him, dad,' Hermione says calmly.

  


  
'But he can't feel it back, can he?' Hugo hisses angrily. 'He is just a walking, breathing time bomb waiting to go off again.'

  


  
'So am I.'

  


  
'What?'

  


  
'Do you think it is easy for me to control all this darkness, dad? Do you think there aren't times when I just want to take over and blast everyone who annoys me out of my fucking way! Do you think I manage this all by myself? Do you!' Hermione shouts aggravated; her eyes blazing fire, while dark sparks are flying out of her hands uncontrollably.

  


  
'I need him, dad. He is the only one who can possibly understand what it is like that I am going through. He is the only one who knows the true nature of darkness, and he keeps me sane and grounded. I would have succumbed to those dark forces ages ago had he not been there to lighten my load, had he not taken some of the burden of my shoulders and carried it for me. You stand here and accuse him of being incapable of loving me. Well, you may be right about that in the more generally accepted term of the word, but I know he respects and values me as I am. I don't need to dumb myself down to be accepted by him. He protects me and keeps me and our children save by all the power he has inside of him. And even though his care can be borderline possessive and controlling at times, I wouldn't want to be without him. He challenges me in every way. He makes me laugh and he is a great father, despite some of his inherent character flaws. And you know why that is, dad? Because he listens to me! Something I can never get you to do!'

  


  
It is almost like steam is flying from Hermione's ears, while a dark cloud begins to form in the sky, invisibly to the people inside the house. A dark lightning bolt leaves her hand and blows up the wall on her right. Anthony stops playing and watches his mother anxiously.

  


  
'Herm…,' Hugo tries, while he stares at his daughter fearfully.

  


  
'No, dad, enough is enough. I love him and if you can't accept him, then – then…'

  


  
'That's quite enough,' Lord Voldemort says, storming into the dental practice followed by Kate. He grabs Hermione and swirls her around. 'Hermione, look at me.'

  


  
Furious, dark eyes stare at him, while the full force of her darkness is seeking an outlet. He grabs a hold of both her wrists immediately, forces them on her back and pulls her against him. He sees how Kate grabs her father and Anthony and Apparates them away to safety. 'Hermione, focus,' Lord Voldemort orders. 'Do not let it control you. You control it.'

  


  
Another explosive burst of magic flies through the air and he is barely able to hold on to her due to the aggressiveness of the magic. Hermione shakes her head desperately. 'I can't hold it anymore. I can't.'

  


  
'Remember what the Knights taught you, Hermione. I know you can do it,' Voldemort whispers, holding her tightly. 'Close your eyes; let go of all thoughts, feelings, and emotions…'

  


  
'It's not working,' Hermione interrupts. 'I can't concentrate through all this hate. I can't…'

  


  
A blood curling, gruesome scream of despair leaves her lips. And in the living room nearby five people look up worried. Sally told Cedric to leave the moment she sensed trouble. So, it is just the family that is witnessing this. Kate has erected the most powerful shield around the building that she could muster. And now, all they can do is sit and wait, while Rose glares at her husband angrily and Sally is looking utterly pale, sitting next to the only person in the room who isn't concerned.

  


  
'Daddy is there,' Anthony says reassuringly to his sister, and he places his hand on hers. 'He'll help mum to be strong and fight. He always does.'

  


  
Sally sends Anthony a weak smile. 'I know, Antho…'

  


  
'Crack!'

  


  
With tremendous force, Devon and Matthew Apparate through Kate's Area Shield. 'What triggered this?' Devon asks authoritatively.

  


  
'We had an argument,' Hugo says embarrassed, not looking into the direction of his wife, whose eyes he can feel burning into his flesh.

  


  
Devon looks at his grandfather frowning and shakes his head. 'It has to be more; a mere argument doesn't make mum lose it completely.'

  


  
'Hermione said there was an incident today with Sloan recognising Thomas,' Hugo adds, glancing at his obviously angry wife apprehensively.

  


  
'That will probably be it,' Matthew says certain.

  


  
'Only if mum had to tap into her dark powers to do something about it,' Devon adds.

  


  
'Devon,' Kate interrupts, 'as much as I love to find out what is the cause of this, theorising about it won't help us one bit at the moment. Can you do something to enhance the shielding around this house? So, we can protect the people outside?'

  


  
Devon nods, whips out his wand and closes his eyes to concentrate on enhancing Kate's Area Shield. While everyone is focusing on Devon, Rose turns to her husband.

  


  
'Just because Devon lets you of the hook, don't think I will,' she hisses underneath her breath. 'I told you a million times to stop bothering Hermione about her decision. And I can't believe you had to start that same argument with her again when it would have been obvious to a little child she wasn't feeling well. If you have pushed her over the edge, I swear…,' Rose halts to regain her composure for the children, before whispering the last bit that is on her mind. 'It's Hermione's life. Stop trying to run it for her and accept her choices for once in your life.'

  


  
A bright flash leaves Devon's wand and he looks up satisfied. 'That should do it, I hope,' he says. 'I gave it all I got.'

  


  
'Thanks Devon,' Kate says calmly.

  


  
Meanwhile Voldemort is still holding the trembling, desperate figure of Hermione in his arms. Her head is buried in his chest and he can feel he is losing her. And that simply is unacceptable. Her darkness is swirling freely through the practice, bouncing at the walls with a vengeance. Though, right now, she is still able to prevent actual serious damage from occurring. But he can tell it won't be much longer.

  


  
'Hermione, look at me!' he orders forcefully again.

  


  
He can't let go of her hands; he knows that much. But she needs to look him in the eye or else he can't help her. 'Hermione, please,' he whispers.

  


  
His whispered plea triggers the wanted response and two blazing dark eyes are looking back up at him. 'Trust me with it,' he says gazing at her intensely. 'Unleashing only a bit of it to me won't help you this time, Hermione; you need to transfer all those powers to me before they consume you whole. Think of Devon, Matthew, Sally and Anthony; they can't lose you, Hermione. Trust me, please. I will…'

  


  
'Transfero i' quanta templa val en' du a' Thomas Granger,' Hermione casts before he is even finished speaking. 'Don't make me regret this,' she whispers right before she turns limp in his arms.

  


  
He holds her firmly, while he notices a dark mist vacating her body, and rather abruptly, it pounces into his chest. Slowly, it begins to empower him beyond his wildest dreams. The sheer force of it is unimaginable and it invigorates him. He thrives on it. This – this is more than he could have hoped for. Twenty-five years he had to wait to obtain this. Twenty-five years before she finally let her guard down completely around him. He has felt parts of the magic's true powers before when Hermione had problems maintaining her sanity due to its innate darkness, but she always kept the majority of it inside of her. Now, he has it all. So much power that has been contained into that little body of his wife, she really is something. He strokes her hair gently and takes in a deep breath to feel the control he now beholds in his body. The way it flows through his nerves, invigorates his muscles and ensnares his senses is making him feel on top of the world. No one will ever beat him now.

  


  
'Thomas?' Hermione whispers feebly.

  


  
He looks down and smiles at her reassuringly. He knows that he can't hold on to the full force of all that dark magic forever, because it would consume him wholly too and the thought of something controlling him is just too outrageous. So, he will, eventually, have to transfer at least some of it back to Hermione, but by that time she will have surrendered to him fully and he sure will enjoy all this power for the future to come.

  


  
'I've got you, dear. You are going to be fine.'

  


  
Hermione smiles back at him. 'We'd better tell the others everything is okay.'

  


  
Voldemort pulls her close and Apparates them straight into the living room despite the enhanced wards. Everyone stares at them silently at first. 'It's alright now,' Voldemort says quietly.

  


  
Sally shrieks, flies to her feet, races to her mother and clings to her, crying tears of relief. 'It's alright, honey. I am fine now,' Hermione mutters, while leaning against Voldemort who is supporting her.

  


  
She winks reassuringly at Matthew, who is noticeable pale, and he smiles back before walking over too and giving his mother a hug. 'It was a bad one, this time, wasn't it mum?'

  


  
'Yes, but it's been dealt with as always.'

  


  
A small tug on her robe makes Hermione look down. 'I knew you would be fine,' Anthony states firmly, 'because daddy was with you.'

  


  
'And you were absolutely right,' Hermione acknowledges. 'I am sorry for scaring you, dad,' she adds to Hugo.

  


  
'No, he is sorry,' Rose intervenes bluntly, elbowing her husband who nods in forced agreement.

  


  
'Impressive ward, your doing?' Voldemort asks Devon.

  


  
'Aunt Kate's, I merely enhanced it a bit.'

  


  
'A bit,' Kate snorts. 'Talk about your understatement of the year.'

  


  
'Well, if all the fun is over, I will be going,' Devon says lightly. 'Are you coming with me Matthew?'

  


  
'Absolutely.'

  


  
Both men Disapparate after saying goodbye, and Hermione leans her head back against Voldemort's chest. 'We have to go or I will crash to the floor with too many witnesses,' Hermione mentally tells him.

  


  
'Sal, Anthony, I trust you will listen to your grandparents, while your mother and I are away on vacation,' Voldemort says sternly. 'If I hear any complaints…,' and he glares at Sally meaningfully, who gives him an annoyed glare back, 'you will answer to me. Is that understood?'

  


  
'Yes, dad,' Sally says tiresomely.

  


  
'I always listen,' Anthony rebuts.

  


  
'Yes, you're Saint Anthony,' Sally teases. 'They'll have to make a very special House for Saints at Hogwarts when you go too.'

  


  
'And you have to change to the "I heart Cedric" House,' Anthony replies, sticking out his tongue. 'Maybe then he will want to snog you some more behind the Quidditch dressing rooms.' And he runs out the living room quickly.

  


  
'Why, you little tattletale…' Sally races after the laughing Anthony.

  


  
'Good luck with them,' Hermione says sighing.

  


  
But Rose merely laughs.

  


  
'If they cause you any problems…,' Voldemort starts.

  


  
'I know how to reach you,' Rose finishes.

  


  
'And I live across the street,' Kate adds smirking. 'I can always withdraw some House points in advance,' she says wickedly.

  


  
'You two have to go, I think,' Rose adds, glancing at Hermione's pale complexion knowingly.

  


  
They all say their goodbyes, and with a smooth spin, Lord Voldemort Disapparates Hermione and him to an underground location. Torches flare on upon their arrival.

  


  
'I'm tired,' Hermione whispers.

  


  
'I know, dear.'

  


  
He lifts her up in his arms, and she rests her head on his shoulder. Her familiar cinnamon smell brushes his nostrils and it makes him smile at the memory when he first held her in his arms, unaware it was her.

  


  
'What is this place?' Hermione asks, looking around the underground cave curiously.

  


  
'Oh, I found it a couple of weeks ago,' Voldemort responds casually as he moves them sideways through a narrow passage before entering a luxurious bedroom. 'It seems I located the place Merlin and Viviane used as their last hideaway from the rest of the world. It kind of explains the whole myth that she locked him up in a rock, considering the huge stone that is bolting the entrance.'

  


  
'Really?' Hermione says impressed, while he places her in the bed and changes her clothes into a bit of more "interesting" sleepwear. 'Found anything of interest?'

  


  
'Nah, nothing much,' Voldemort says shrugging, 'just a huge library with an enormous amount of scrolls…'

  


  
'Library!' Hermione says excited, and she tries to get up, but her husband pushes her back in the bed.

  


  
'It will still be there in the morning,' he says smirking, while stroking her hair.

  


  
'I suppose…,' Hermione mumbles reluctantly.

  


  
'Eh, if you think you have enough energy to browse through a large archive, then we can also do something about Sally being the only girl of our children,' Voldemort suggest deviously.

  


  
Hermione merely glares at him. 'You just loved bullying Cedric, didn't you?'

  


  
A soft snicker indicates she hit the nail right on the head.

  


  
'Well, I think four is enough. Besides, you never know…,' she says lifting her eyebrows mischievously, 'it may turn out to be a boy again.'

  


  
'No, I think this one will definitely be a girl,' Voldemort responds certain, while crawling in the bed beside her and pulling her against him.

  


  
'You said the same thing about Anthony,' Hermione reminds him. 'And remember little babies do all those whining and crying things, which drives you nuts,' she adds snickering.

  


  
'That's why Silencing Charms were invented, my dear.'

  


  
Hermione hits her head with the palm of her hand. 'I am not even going to dignify that with a response.'

  


  
'Good, because I feel more like creating little Hermione Rose,' Voldemort grins.

  


  
'Just so you know if it turns out to be a boy again, I am naming him Harry,' Hermione says smirking at her husband.

  


  
'Over my dead body,' he says, moving on top of her.

  


  
'U-hu, Harry Ronald Wulfric Albus Arthur James Sirius Remus Tommm…' His mouth captures her and a domineering kiss silences her completely.

  


  
When they are done, he looks at the little sleeping witch in his arms proudly. He invigorated her with his magic, so she could perform, but she was exhausted afterwards and had fallen asleep straight away. He smiles at the peaceful, content expression on her face. She appears so vulnerable, so fragile, and so easy to break and destroy. But he knows the strength she truly carries inside of her and is capable of wielding. His life has never been dull again since she came into it. She is everything he ever wished for: intelligent, powerful, loyal, stubborn, feisty, beautiful, loving, cunning, ambitious, and let's not forget bossy. He grins. She challenges and defies him, and for the first time in his life, it doesn't bother him, but he somewhat likes it. Such an extraordinary little witch she is, and she is all his; the mother of his children and his wife. She will have it all, because Lord Voldemort always rewards those who serve him well.  
  
---


End file.
